#my heart feels like it's floating on a lil cloud...

[chrisbangs]

🥹🫶💗🌙

[enhalouv]

lee heeseung - birthday boy (boyfriend texts + drabble)

a/n: a belated birthday fic for my baby!! THERES A DRABBLE AT THE END BTW!! hope you enjoy ;)

pairing: heeseung x f!reader

warnings: the texts r fluffy, w a lil bit of smut heh, lots of kissing!!, clothed humping lol, fingering, oral f!receiving, hee is a muncher, overstimulation, lil bit of dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex whoops

w.c: 2.2k

“Did you like it?”

Heeseung hums, nestling deeper into the crevice between your jaw and neck.

You had gotten home from the party, all numb limbs and sweaty bodies, Both tiredly shuffling into the cramped shower stall. By the time you’d gotten out and ready for bed, it was already 3:15am. You both flopped unceremoniously onto the bed, shuffling to get under the covers.

Exhaustion seeps into your bones, the night long and wearying. Not by the party itself, per say, but the happenings before it. Your phone had rung non-stop as people bombarded it with questions ranging from where they could park to whether the cake was gluten-free. By the time Heeseung had arrived, there was a small pounding at the back of your head.

You had booked a small venue to hold all of Heeseung’s friends. But, the owners wouldn’t let you come in early to decorate, so you’d rallied Jungwon and Sunoo to help with the mere hour they’d given you.

Glinting fairy lights and strings of balloons donned the walls, a huge banner hung up at the bar depicting a baby Heeseung with a drawn-on party hat - courtesy of Jaeyun. You had even gone out of your way to find baby pictures to play a slideshow on the two separate screens displayed at the venue. Scouring his parents’ baby books and various photos hung up around his family home.

By the time the party started, all the decorations were up and the food and drinks were sorted, everything fell right into place. Seeing Heeseung’s surprised face as he entered the venue was well worth the stress you endured.

He had come to you immediately, scooped you up in a hug and spun you around, giggling about how amazed he was and how happy he was that you’d done something like this for him. You couldn’t help the giddy feeling that arose as he spew gratitude to his ‘beautiful girlfriend’ during his birthday speech.

Now that you were home and all danced-out, you couldn’t help but relive the night and all its glorious moments.

“You did amazing, baby. Worked that little butt off to make me the happiest man there.”

Heeseung’s lips stretch into a smile, tickling your neck, dropping a sweet kiss at the base of your throat. He peppers the skin there with tiny kisses, squirming on top of you as you giggle.

One particular kiss has your breath hitching. One accompanied with his tongue laving at the skin. Heeseung sucks at the skin softly, making his way up the column of your throat.

“Heeseung…” you whimper, hands grip at his shoulders as you tilt your head. He takes your invitation and pushes himself against you harder, the outline of his hard cock pressing against your thigh.

Hands wander down your body, slipping under your pyjama top and gripping your waist. You could feel the heat growing between your bodies. The way your heart beat faster and breathing got shallower. The feeling of dreaminess clouding your being as you felt like you were floating at the gentle caress of Heeseung’s hands.

“Should I thank you for your hard work?”

Pressing up against him, you let out a breathless moan, “Please.”

Lifting slightly, Heeseung makes quick work of your top, tossing it behind him before diving down to trail kisses down your chest. His hands squeeze at your breasts, forefingers flick at your already hard nipples. The sensation makes you buck your hips into him, seeking any sort of friction to calm the restlessness you feel itching at your skin.

You like when Heeseung takes his time. He gives every inch of you and your body attention, paying mind to how your body reacts - what things you like and those you don’t. Yet right now, he’s moving far too slow. You think he enjoys torturing you just a little bit. Likes watching you wriggle around for any sort of touch where you need it most.

Slot between your legs, Heeseung stares up you with hooded eyes as he leans down and swipes his tongue against your nipple. Your body arches, hand gripping the back of his head to push him further down into your chest. Heeseung takes his time, lips smear with his own spit as he obscenely sucks and drools all of your tits. His hands knead at the other, ensuring neither is unattended to for very long.

He was driving you mad.

“Fuck,” cursing, Heeseung grinds down into the bed, his cock hard and strains against his boxers. “You did so well for me today, love. Worked so hard to make me happy, didn’t you?”

At his words he trails a hand down to press roughly against your core. He feels the dampness settling between your thighs through your shorts, nipping tenderly at your nipple. Heeseung presses the heel of his palm where he knows your clit is and grinds it against you.

Your head tosses back into the pillows and you moan unabashedly as you press up into his palm. Your cunt now soaked merely by the feeling of Heeseung’s teeth scraping against your nipples and his hand pressing deeply between your thighs. Why you felt so on edge already was mystifying. You had a feeling the weariness from earlier aided to heighten your senses, making you particularly reactive to Heeseung’s advances.

To be honest, Heeseung could probably get off to watching you alone. He’s so hard between his legs, aching as he watches your body writhe in his hold as he presses against you harder.

“Good girl. Already so close and I haven’t even touched you properly yet.”

You groan, hiding your face in your pillow, embarrassed at how true his words were. Your hips stutter as you notice Heeseung watching in your peripheral. Three years and the way Heeseung watches you unravel yourself by his own doing will always make you shy. It’s like he’s completely absorbed into watching your every reaction, how you body moves and reacts to his touch.

The extra attention and the pressure between your legs spurs you on. Your hips grind harder against his palm, your cunt dampening your shorts as you chase your high. Heeseung’s mouth is back against your chest, playing with your nipples in a way that has you mewling. Heeseung’s palm presses a tad harder, the pressure going straight against your clit. With eyes still trained on you, Heeseung fondles your chest and watches as your body suddenly goes taunt, a low moan slipping out as you shudder through your orgasm.

“That’s it, baby, ride it out for me,” Heeseung coos, tucking strands of hair behind your ear and gently caressing the side of your face as you come down. “You’re doing so well.”

Your orgasm left your body hypersensitive. The deft fingers inching down your torso, the palm now splayed flat against your hip - all of it felt heightened.

With a knowing smile, Heeseung presses two fingers against your covered core. Your whole body flinches, letting out a shocked gasp as Heeseung continues to slowly circle his fingers right where your clit is.

He’s sadistic. Heeseung couldn’t help but derive pleasure from watching your overstimulated body writhe this way and that from his ministrations.

Heeseung pulls back, giving you room to calm down. He reaches down to his boxers and palms the uncomfortable hardness. He can’t help but groan as he savours the image of your body covered in small bruises and your puffy nipples that stood erect from his mouth.

You look beautiful.

“Hee,” your voice calls out to him, hands reach out to cradle his face with a look of pure adoration. “Please, I want you.”

He can’t contain the groan at your words, his dick throbs in his hand.

He pulls out of his boxers and turns to take your shorts off, enjoying the way they stick to your pussy, a string of cum connecting them.

Without thinking, Heeseung spreads your folds and leans in and licks a stripe against your cunt. Moaning at the taste, Heeseung begins flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit, relishing in the unrestrained sounds you let out at the feeling.

Heeseung lifts your legs to press them against your chest, leaving you entirely exposed to his mouth. He pushes his face into your pussy, groaning as cum smears against his face as he swipes his head from side to side, tongue flicking out and catching on your clit.

Fingers inch closer to your hole, the tip presses gently before sliding in with ease. The slick pouring from within you help. The squelching sound as he pulls in and out has him stifling a moan, loving the way you squirm beneath him.

“Ah, ah-Heeseung!”

He could tell you were getting close with the way you grip the fabric of his comforter, your hips lift to press his mouth deeper into your pussy. Heeseung pulls his fingers out momentarily to press the wetness onto your clit, moving his fingers quickly side-to-side just as you like, before he thrusts them back into you. His mouth covers your clit, sucking and flicking as you rode out your high - your second orgasm of the night.

Heeseung couldn’t help but keep taking in the taste of your cunt even as you shudder through oversensitivity. His tongue pushes into your hole to encase his tastebuds entirely.

“God, Heeseung, please,” you begged, tears edging your waterline, “Please fuck me, I need you inside me right now!”

Groaning, Heeseung pulls down his boxers and kicks them off to the end of the bed. He lifts and pulls you towards him. Your legs spread and his hand grips the softness, the other lining his cock with your entrance.

“Ready?”

“If you don’t get in me right now, so help me God-“

Your complaints cease as Heeseung pushes into you, his cock stretching you out so well. His hips meet your pelvis and he leans down to cover your mouth with his own. Sobbing into his mouth, Heeseung’s tongue slips in to swipe against your teeth.

“Fuck!” Heeseung groans and rolls his hips. His cock feels suffocated, wet and warmth surrounding it driving him insane. Your walls were practically sucking him in, trying to milk him of all his cum.

Nails dig into Heeseung’s hands as he starts inching out. Your face was screwed up in pleasure, jaw slack and sweat beading at your forehead. Two orgasms in and your body was thrumming. The need to be filled and stuffed full of Heeseung’s cum, your body was practically calling out for it.

Relaxing into the steady pace Heeseung sets, your body goes lax after a few moments. This lets him pull out with ease. Lets him set a newer, faster pace.

Heeseung pulls out leaving only the tip resting at your entrance, head tilting up to see your face, “Feels good, baby? My cock making you feel good?”

You couldn’t even formulate a response, head sagging against the pillows as your back arches. Your pussy clenched around nothing as Heeseung strokes his tip against your now swollen clit. Your body felt like it was on fire.

Watching your face crumple in displeasure at the emptiness, Heeseung pushes all the way in again, spurred on by the way your nails dig into his shoulders.

After a particularly hard thrust, Heeseung lets go of your thighs and leans down to capture your lips in a deep kiss - hands cupping your heated cheeks. Your legs wrap around his waist, caging him there.

It’s a miraculous feat that you didn’t die right there. Heeseung relentlessly fills you up, pushing a hand up against your lower back forcing it to curve into a delicious arch. His cock pounds into the exact spot that makes you splutter and moan.

“That’s it baby,” Heeseung growls, his voice dipping lower. “Feels good, doesn’t it? Does my pretty girl like it?”

Barely able to say a word, you nod your head weakly a mantra of “yes, yes, yes,” tumbling from your lips. Heeseung revels in it.

He had fucked you completely and utterly dumb.

Leaning back to take in the mess he’s made, Heeseung presses his hand against your lower stomach. The pressure combined with the hard thrusts has your back bend deeper. The new position ensuring that every inch of Heeseung’s length was penetrating your walls, leaving nothing untouched.

The thought alone had you succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure. Your pussy tightening around his thick length, making it difficult for Heeseung to move. And yet he kept pounding into you. Never once letting up as your body trembled through your third orgasm of the night.

“Fuck,” Heeseung moans, his hips continue to slap against you, driving his cock deeper. “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

It was all the warning you got before his hips still, burying deep within you and you physically feel his cock pulse at he fills you to the brim. You felt so full. His head tucked into your neck breathing deep as his body laid lax in your hold. You continue to roll your hips, making him whimper.

Your panting, sweaty bodies lay over one with your and hands clasped. You pepper kisses along Heeseung’s neck, while he runs his hands softly up and down your sides.

You feel floaty as Heeseung pulls out of you, turning onto his side and bringing you in. You snuggle into his arms, and groan at the sticky feeling between your legs, of Heeseung’s cum leaking down your thighs.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

[mint-yooxgi]

Kinktober Day 29 - Demon!Seungcheol + Knife & Asphyxiation

@chaoticrapavini Said: Gurllllllll you know I don't be asking on here often so if I do this wrong don't attack meeee! Kinktober is upon us, and Demon Scoups with some knife play, maybe him being choked, and a lil blood never hurt anyone. Go wildddd🤭 pwetty please 🥰 A/n: So, this one turned out way more angsty than I ever intended, but I kinda like it. Ngl, I think it's really interesting, so I hope you like it! Might not be the smuttiest prompt, but I think the plot makes up for it lmaoo Warnings/Genre/Rating: 18+ MDNI - Smut, Mature, Established Relationship, Possession, Monster Features, Blood Word Count: 1,990 Kinktober 2024 Mini Masterlist

Dark clouds line the sky, a dull grey mist permeating the air. The cool dampness of the rain settles onto your skin, sinking deep into your bones and causing you to shiver. Around you, the cemetery is empty, the crunching of leaves and dead grass beneath your feet offering you company as you walk through the graves.

A loud caw is heard behind you, followed by the familiar sound of wings fluttering. A breeze drifts by, and you watch as an unkindness of ravens fly over your head. As they begin to circle overhead, a smirk pulls at the corner of your lips.

Still, you continue on as if it were nothing. 

The ravens follow your path deeper into the cemetery. They act almost like your own personal guardians as you finally reach the section that you’ve been looking for.

The large doors creak as you push them open, the faint light of the sun hidden behind those ever obstructing clouds filtering in. Dust floats through the air as you step inside, a stone alter resting in the centre of the room. Walking around to the opposite side of the slab, you let out a low breath.

The sound of fluttering wings echoes from behind you, an ominous presence suddenly at your back.

A moment of silence.

“I’m surprised you came.” You keep your voice low, a tone of indifference filling the tomb.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” His deep reply nearly has a shiver caressing your spine.

You round on him, a firm look resting on your features. No matter how happy you are to see him, you cannot ignore the ache in your heart. “It’s been several months, Cheol.”

He winces, body tense. “I know.”

Shame courses through his veins, averting his gaze to the side. His large wings seem to droop behind him, the dark purple, almost black feathers glinting in the faint light that cascades through the open doors.

He hardly looks any different from the last time you saw him. Same shaggy black hair framing his sharp features. Dark brown eyes which still seem to hold the stars inside of them despite how dull they appear. Even his clothes - black jeans, a t-shirt, and his signature leather jacket - still fit him perfectly. Enough so that you can just make out the muscle hidden beneath.

“I missed you.” The words are but a whisper on his lips, yet they fill the empty space with the intensity of a siren going off.

Your eyes fall shut, swallowing your building emotions. “You shouldn’t have.”

“But I did.” He counters. “Not a day went by without you on my mind.”

You purse your lips. “A lot has changed since we last saw each other, Cheol.”

“Do you no longer feel the same?”

You cannot deny the way that the hint of panic in his voice makes your heart squeeze painfully inside of your chest.

“No, it’s not-“

“Tell me what I can do.” His words come out a bit frantic, footsteps echoing against the stone walls as he rushes over to your side. “Tell me what I can do to make it better. To fix things between us. I can’t lose you again.”

“Don’t-“ Your breath hitches in your throat, tears pricking at your eyes. “Don’t say that.”

“Why?” His brow furrows, attempting to get you to even look at him once more. “Why not?”

“Because it’ll only make things harder.”

“Make what harder?” He takes another step forward, hand settling on your shoulder gently to try and coax you to turn towards him.

“This.”

In the blink of an eye, you have him pinned to the alter by his throat. Your fingers squeeze against the sides of his neck, the tip of a dagger suddenly pressing against his chest. You can feel the furious beating of his heart as he looks up at you with wide eyes, lips parted in shock. The worst part is that he doesn’t even attempt to fight back.

You can feel his throat bob beneath your hand as he swallows thickly, his eyebrows drooping in sadness. The fact that there seems to be a clear notion of acceptance and understanding held within his gaze only makes your hands begin to tremble.

A single tear spills down your cheek, soon dripping onto his skin.

“Do it.” 

His words catch you completely off guard, fingers tightening subconsciously around his neck.

You bite your lip.

“If I am to die by anyone’s hand, it is a blessing to be felled by your own.”

A broken sob escapes your throat, and you push yourself off of him. The dagger in your hand clatters to the floor as you press yourself against the wall. Slowly, you shake your head, sliding to the ground as more tears spill from your eyes.

“I can’t-“ You hiccup. “I can’t do this.”

Not even a second goes by until Seungcheol appears crouched in front of you. Gently, carefully, he reaches out for you, cupping your cheek in his hand.

Lifting your tearful gaze, you meet his own.

“Please-” You choke on your words, hands still trembling as you hold them in front of yourself. “Don’t make me do this.”

Immediately, Seungcheol wraps you in his arms, his wings coming to surround you both. The deep purple feathers offer their protection, shrouding you in his touch and letting you know that he’s right there. That he will always be right there.

“Shhh,” Gentle hands caress your back, tucking your head beneath his chin. “I’m right here. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m right here.”

Another sob escapes your lips, and you find yourself clinging onto him for dear life.

“They want me to bleed you-“ Your hands tighten over the leather of his jacket. “They want me to bleed you, and present them with your blood.”

Seungcheol inhales sharply, his arms pulling you in closer as his wings tighten around the both of you. He knows how difficult your choices have been lately, your life having taken a drastic turn since meeting him. You both knew the dangers of being together, but love had blinded the both of you since the beginning. Now, faced with the cold, hard truth of the matter, Seungcheol regrets ever leaving you on your own.

He should have stayed. There is no doubt in his mind. Maybe then they wouldn’t have dared to sink their grimy claws into you like this. He thought things would be okay. All the little check-ins he made to you, ensuring your safety… he never realized just how bad things had gotten.

There is no one to blame but himself.

Taking a deep breath in, Seungcheol steels his resolve. He knows what has to be done, and he will gladly spend the rest of eternity atoning for his sins. Especially when they involve you.

“What are you doing?”

Your voice manages to pull Seungcheol out of his thoughts, his hand now holding your previously discarded dagger. The way your gaze keeps darting from the cold steel, to his face and back, with fear in your eyes, has him smiling at you assuringly.

“Relax, Angel. I told you I would never hurt you, and I fully intend to always keep my word.” His tone is soft, soothing over you as he comes to kneel before you. A blink, and he’s flipped the dagger in his hand, offering you the handle once more. “They’re expecting you to deliver my blood, are they not?”

“Well, yes, but-“

“I will gladly bleed for you, My Love.”

The sincerity you see shining within his dark gaze has your lips clamping shut. Hesitantly, you reach for that dagger, searching his eyes for any sign of deceit. Knowing him, though, and how he has always been with you, you know that Seungcheol is telling nothing but the undeniable truth.

Everything he is always, and will always, belong to you.

“You don’t have to do this.” Lightly, you shake your head at him.

He simply smiles at you in response. “I want to.”

“But what if I don’t want you to.” You swallow your emotions, hand tightening over the pommel of the dagger.

Carefully, he reaches out to place his hand on top of yours over the handle. A soft expression rests on his features, eyes kind and reassuring.

“Trust me.”

Taking a slow breath in to steady your nerves, you nod your head.

In an instant, Seungcheol forces your hand forward and plunges that dagger deep into his chest. A flurry of wings and feathers surround you, ravens suddenly filling the space of the empty tomb. Their screeches reverberate against the stone, a rush of black filling your vision and forcing you to look away. All you can feel for the moment is the slow drip of warm blood coating your hand.

Your fingers tighten on that pommel, an indescribable ache erupting within your heart. Your lips fall open in a pained cry, but no sound escapes you. Tears cascade down your cheeks, and you try desperately to remove that dagger from his chest. However, with the commotion around you, and your overwhelming emotions, it makes it hard to see, let alone think.

Then, as if the world around you has stopped, the tomb goes eerily quiet.

You haven’t even realized you had closed your eyes until you’re blinking them open. There is no more warmth oozing onto your hand, grip suddenly feeling empty as you tremble like a leaf upon the ground. Once your vision clears, you nearly choke on another sob.

There, leaning against the alter with his arms crossed casually against his chest, rest Seungcheol. Vials of blood line the top of the stone beside him, your dagger resting lightly to their right. Not a single spot of red can bee seen on the blade, nor on his shirt as he smiles at you softly, his wings fluttering lightly behind him.

Not a single feather litters the ground, nor is there sight or sound of any remaining ravens.

Your lips part, a shaky exhale escaping you, “How…?”

“A lot has changed since we last saw each other, My Love.”

The way he repeats your own words to you from earlier has a gasp escaping your throat. Without wasting another second, you scramble to your feet, practically flinging yourself into his awaiting arms.

“Don’t ever do something as reckless as that again!” You scold him, breath stuttering as you hug him tightly. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Nah,” He chuckles lightheartedly, hand soothing over your spine, “You can’t get rid of me that easily. What do you think I’ve spent all of this time away from you doing?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know? You- you overgrown chicken!” You smack his chest a few times for good measure.

Small ‘ow’s escape him with each hit, chuckling fondly as he wraps his wings around you once more. The corner of his lips quirk upwards as you bury yourself into his embrace, fingers curling into the material of his shirt and clinging to him for dear life.

“I’m sorry I made you worry.” He says softly, placing a tender kiss to the top of your head. “I promise I’m here for good this time. I’m not going anywhere, and if I do, you are most certainly coming with me.”

“Damn straight.” You sniffle, bringing a hand up to wipe at your eyes. A firm poke is given to his chest. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”

“I know,” A low hum escapes him as he quickly flips your positions. Gently, he lifts you onto the stone alter, settling himself between your thighs. His hands smooth over your sides, a dark gleam shining within his eyes as he slowly sinks to his knees before you. “For now, why don’t you let me make it all up to you.”

[sordidmusings]

Give (in) and Take (me) - (Beckman x Reader)

Art by shibama_TK9

A/N: *Hasn’t completed a smut in weeks, comes back throwing a niche character at you to spread simpin for him like a virus* plz love him he’s great and while he ain’t my main I’d have nooooooo complaints in partaking 😩 tryin to give the Beckman lovers some content because it is devastatingly scant and he’s quite the treat

Word Count: ~8.7k

Warnings: fem!reader, NSFW, there’s some plot at the front and back, bratty reader, brat-tamer Beckman, he does the Nanami hair grab 👌🏻, semi-public, standing, against the wall, man-handling, clothed sex, p in v, creampie, praise, degredation, lots of teasing on both sides, age gap? (briefly mentioned, ~30 and late 40s), Beckman is a lil mean but don't worry he's Whipped, this some filth filth 🥴 whoops

Now please come enjoy prodding the big gruff man (who just wants to treat you right) until he snaps

(˵¯͒〰¯͒˵)

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

You’ve had enough of the raucous jubilation in the bar, especially now that you noticed your awaited opening unfolding before you. The rest of the Red Hair Pirates were fully distracted in their jovial whirling, hooting, and playing, leaving a certain silver smoke cloud all by his lonesome. You’d been dancing through his whisps all night, enjoying how they’d wrap and curl around you as you went. It was in their nature to do so. Each brush of a hand got a shiver and a sigh and a trailing stare. Each floated conversation was leaned into, breathed in, savored. Each departure was followed with the turn and lean of his chest, pulled to follow from the sure grip on his thumping heart until his doubts rooted him down and resisted the tug.

You were plagued by your own doubts, mostly of what the “after” would look like, but you were certain of one thing: he was attracted. Along with his need to entwine with your presence, you’d noticed the tell-tale sign of his gaze drawn to lips, neck, breasts, hips, and thighs. You’d noticed the hunger growing his pupils so they could better suck in your image on each glance. You’d noticed how he had to keep flicking his tongue out to wet his lips, mouth dry from restrained need. Most importantly, you’d noticed the way he had to shift and shuffle while he watched you dance, fighting the need to pull you away for himself to join and trying to flush the heat from his body. Whatever it was that was holding him in his seat and keeping his hands and lips and tongue off of you, you were going to drag him right through it until he was fully in your grasp.

First thing’s first, you retook your spot on the stool next to him at the bar. Immediately the smoke tendrils embraced you; your drink was scooted back in front of you, his thigh slid sideways to seek the brush of yours, a lethargic smile took residence on his face to greet you. You responded with a coy smile of your own and then a hearty gulp of your drink. The steady burn and potent taste of liquorice cutting through the muddled mint and lemon centered you and heartened you for your plan of attack.

“Thanks, Becks, glad to have you as my cocktail guard dog,” you said with teasing humor. You gave his thigh a friendly pat that crossed the amicable boundary with a lingering hold and gentle squeeze, before you brought the hand back up to give you another sip of your drink. The taste of touch on his thick muscle had it twitch in delight. Your mouth watered at the feel, not quite sated with alcohol on your tongue when there should be skin.

“Any time, darlin’,” Beckman responded easily and honestly. “Though I don’t think there’s any here who would do much to it. Much more likely one of the fools will steal it to drink for themselves.”

You laughed at the statement, knowing how true it was. When the crew was drunk they got sticky fingers, and when it came to drinks they were the worst - none quite remembering whose was whose and caring even less to get it right. Knowing where you wanted to try and get this night to go, you’d kept yourself far behind them in intoxication. You kept yourself right in the sweet spot of inebriated enough for that coveted liquid courage but not so much that you were out of control of yourself. Besides, if you got your way you didn’t want any of the details to be foggy.

“Even so, it’s appreciated,” you reasserted, giving him a winning smile and stalling his heart. “Now can I ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course you can, darlin’,” he replied instantly. Another cheer rang out in the background, followed by the beginnings of a long and loud drinking song. Beckman used this as an excuse to lean into your space to better hear and see you. “What can I do for you?”

You centered yourself more forward towards the bar, just to force him to lean in even closer to chase you, and peeked at him from the corner of your eye. The look mixed with your mischievous smile had him ready and eager to agree to whatever you had in mind. Not that he’d let you see how easy it was for you to sway him.

“Well…” you trailed off, just to make him squirm, “I can think of lots of things you could do for me. I’m having trouble picking my favorite.”

Beckman’s brows rose at the blatant flirting. Sure, you’d both thrown some flirtatious comments at each other throughout your relationship, but they didn’t feel anything like this. They felt easy, friendly - like something to build rapport and have fun. This felt so much heavier - a gift offered to him that was pulling the possibility of closeness from cloudy dreams down to the ground with the weight of the warm cast of the bar lights, the dark desire in your eyes, and the sultry tone of your voice. He began to recount how many drinks he’d had to check if he was imagining the advances he’d long wished for. Maybe he should check for you too.

“Darlin’, how many drinks you got in you?” There was genuine concern in the question, mixing with a touch of incredulity. You scoffed at it all.

“Not enough to lose my sense, thank you very much,” you answered. To snub his misplaced worries, you downed the rest of your drink. “That was only the fifth of the night, we’ve been here hours, and you know it takes much more than that to take me down.”

“That it does,” Beckmann conceded. The bare affection in his voice and eyes while he said it had you flushing, finding care much more difficult to process than lust. “Now my task?”

Yet again, you took to keeping him in suspense. Instead of answering, you slowly drew your gaze over him, assessing him. He fought against the small shiver it put through him; he felt like you were staring straight through his clothes. He felt like he was getting the most important appraisal of his life and all he had to go on was the burning in your eyes and your cryptic smile. You were doing a better job of reading him; while his expression remained perfectly schooled, you were observant enough to see his tells. Just as when he watched you dance, he shifted in his seat, working through the flush of arousal poured on him from his nervousness and having your eyes glued to him. Between the curtains of his wavy silver hair, you saw his Adam's apple bob with a strong swallow. He started lightly drumming on the bartop with his fingers on the hand closest to you.

Using that to your advantage, you made your next move. Doing it slowly so he could layer each second with his anticipation, you trailed your fingertips across the knuckles of his fidgeting hand, halting the motion. You flicked your gaze up to check in on his eyes. They mostly held confusion, but so so much interest was also packed into his silver irises. Happy with the reaction, you proceeded to move your teasing touch further, traveling over the back of his hand and his wrist to play with the soft hair on his forearm in deliberate circles. Though he was nearly bursting with questions, Beckman kept his mouth shut and resolved to let you lead this at your own pace until you finally decided it was time to reveal your hand to him.

“I’ve decided,” you started, finally breaking the silence with an alluring whisper, “that I want more than one favor.” You stopped watching your fingers touch him to look at him through your lashes. “And I know where you can start.”

Beckman blew out a long breath, hoping to settle down his heart, which was still jumping and kicking. You’re not drunk, but this has to be the alcohol. You couldn’t be propositioning him. Him. Maybe he’s just a curiosity? Perhaps you were interested in trying out an experience with an older lover who’s had more years to learn his way around a woman? Maybe, even though you could have your choice of any of the patrons, you found him to be the easy target.

“And where is that?” he asked, making sure to keep his tone steady.

“You can take me home.” You noticed the real shock in his gaze, and for the first time in the encounter a bit of panic seeped into you. Thinking quickly to soften the blow, you explained, “Don’t wanna walk home alone with even a little alcohol in me, and I know you’ll take care of me.”

“Aye, darlin’, that I will.” The honesty in his words stoked your courage back into a steady burn even better than the one brought on by the hard drinks.

Using the hand that had been trailing over his forearm, you loosely held his wrist, slid smoothly from your seat, and began leading him out of the bar. Beckman followed you easily. You didn’t have to put any pressure behind your hold on him; he wouldn’t let you get more than a step ahead of him. Even with his close hover, you both ducked and weaved with practiced grace through the chaos of your crew and the rowdy celebration they’d whipped up with all the other patrons. By the time you’d reached the entrance, you’d ducked three swinging fists, five drunken “dances”, two frisbeed hats, one flung fork, and a pair of tossed shirts.

The door shutting behind you sealed away the cacophony of the crowd, melding it with the comforting ambience of late night bugsong and strangers distantly living their lives. The outside world felt pleasantly chill and calm, especially in contrast to the atmosphere of the bar. The slight bite to the air only made the small contact between the two of you feel that much sweeter in its skin-to-skin warmth. Both you and Beckman sucked in a deep breath of crisp evening air to savor the moment. 

Throwing a cheeky (and, to his worry, slightly plotting) smile his way, you began to head in the direction of the docks. You only made it about eight steps. The moment the alley between buildings opened on your right, you yanked Beckman into the shadows with you. He stumbled after you with barely a fight, continuing his emotional flavors of the night: confused, intrigued, and happy to be here. Once you fell past the full streams of light from the street lamps, you spun around to him and pounced. 

You began by rooting him in place, fisting your hands tight into his shirt by his waist and stepping so close that your chests and stomachs and hips and thighs touched. You leaned up to place a kiss right above the point in his v-neck, relishing the heat of his skin against your lips. You shivered at the feeling of a twitch of interest against your lower stomach. His hands quickly found your waist and gripped. He worried the flesh under his fingers, earning his first quiet moan from you. It only made his grip stiffen, warring with himself between his disbelief at your advances and the rabid need to pull you closer and make sure you never stopped.

Beckman began to use his hold on you to ease you back from him. You responded with a frustrated whine and greedy hands. Those hands massaged their way across the packed muscles of his sides and chest before twisting in the fabric over his large pecs and tugging him down to your height. Taking advantage of the untouched skin now within reach, you kissed and sucked your way over his collarbone and up his neck.

His plan of retreat crumbled under your advance, leaving him to paw his grip down to the meat of your hips and try not to succumb to the fierce instinct to grind his aching cock against you. Your head spun with your rushing blood and skipping breaths. The whirl was spurred on by finally getting to know the taste of his skin, the feeling of his coveting hands keeping you close, the sound of his stuttering breaths morphing into panting. Now you just needed to spur him from receiving into action.

“Beck, touch me,” you whispered against his ear. He shivered fully from your lips and breath ghosting over him and filling his skin with addictive tingles. Losing his concentration, Beckman guided your hips in one long, sturdy grind against his straining hardness. You nipped his earlobe in appreciation. “I want you to touch me.”

“You’re drunk,” he weakly protested.

“We both know I’m not,” you shot back. Switching your methods, you crawled your hands up his shoulders, his neck, and into his hair. You led him with sweet and teasing kisses against his cheek and jaw, playing with the way his head always tilted to follow your affections in a wanting daze.

“You should look for another man to share your body,” he tried again, this time managing to sound assertive through the breathiness of his voice.

“Do you really want another man touching me?” you bit back at him.

“No,” he instantly growled. The mere idea had always put a pang in his heart but feeling your touch and hearing the words from you made it more real, and he was no match for the spike of angry possessiveness that overtook him.

“Good,” you cooed coyly, lips back against his ear, “because I don’t want that either.” You took a long moment to tease your nails against his scalp and nip the skin next to his pulse. He succumbed to another torturous grind against you. Each press of him gave you a better idea of what he was hiding and had your mind running rampant trying to figure out how it would feel splitting you open.

“I want you,” you moaned, pushing all the genuine need into your voice that you could.

“Come on, pretty thing, you don’t mean that,” Beckman stubbornly argued. He’d sound much more convincing if he wasn’t moaning the words out with his strained rumble, turning the statement into a plea.

“I do though,” you whined back to him, right below his ear where you were working hard to leave another pretty mark. For all his propriety fueled hesitation, Beckman was still leaning down so you could reach his neck and tilting his stubbled jaw away, pleading for more of your attention. “I do mean it.”

Your own desperation and his unspoken pleas for your touch fueled your boldness. One of your hands left his tresses to wedge between your pressed hips and grab a hold of him. A groan shook through his ribs, only encouraging your hand to press and feel more. His cock twitched and jumped under your slow strokes and palming, begging for your touch when he wouldn’t. His cheek fell to your shoulder and his humid panting caressed your neck.

“Pretty girl, if you keep touching me like that,” his speech was interrupted by a poorly restrained moan, “I’m not gonna be able to keep my head.”

“Then don’t,” you encouraged, voice rushed and ravenous and pulling him to the depths of his urges in his new favorite siren song.

Having felt him in your palm, you became set on getting to feel him skin to skin. You wanted to feel the power of the radiant heat that poured from him so strongly you both felt like you were burning through your clothes. You wanted to see what’s been hidden from you, become privy to secrets that will let your fantasies forever hold more reality. You wanted to know he let you have this piece of him, let you take his body and take control of his pleasure. On top of all of that, you wanted to feel, see, and know the thick hardness that was going to stretch you wide open.

In your rush, you only gave yourself time to trail a few kisses down his chest on your way to your knees. Beckman leaned himself back on the wall of the bar, opening himself up to as much of your touch as you would give. He still attempted to keep his defense under the siege of temptation, taking to opening and closing his hands at his sides to keep them from manhandling you. He wasn’t strong enough, however, to push you away. Each touch of yours was teasing him with the heaven he’d been dreaming of finding under your hands and in your body. Now having had a taste of your touch, It’d take nothing short of a gun to the head for him to break from anything you were willing to give. Doesn’t mean he won’t try to steer it so you’re taken care of the way he wants you to be.

He looked down at you, hypnotized by the radiant image of you and your styled hair and your decorated lashes and your smudged lipstick actually kissing him, treating him with the desire he thought impossible. His eyes had long adjusted to the darkness of the alley, blessedly letting him take in this image to hoard forever. 

As your knees hit the dirt path, it hit him - alley. You were getting yourself dirty to touch him, basically in public in your rush, stuck in a location with only hard ground and stone walls for comfort. The realization had his cock throb hard, getting an eager moan from you where you were kissing along his length while your fingers made their way under his sash to find the waistline of his trousers. Fuck, this was a dream. It was a dream, but not the one he wanted for you where he takes his time worshiping every inch of skin, treating you like royalty, going slow so when he makes you cum it shakes you from toes to fingertips to the crown of your head-

“Darlin’, you deserve better than some back alley fu-”

“What I deserve is you; now let me have you,” you grumbled back to him, nosing his sash up so you could leave kisses and nips right above the hem of his pants. You inched them lower and lower, following their descent with your hungry mouth and savoring every new speck of skin you could. You got past the ridge of his adonis belt when you realized he had nothing on underneath them, making your mouth water with ever more anticipation. You could tell from the tenseness in his muscles, the tremors in his thighs under your clawing grip, that he was at the end of his rope. Centering a kiss on his happy trail, you looked straight up into his eyes and ordered, “Now fuck me.”

You were just about to get his pants low enough to let his painfully hard cock out to greet with a kiss when an angry hand took hold of the hair at the back of your head. It clamped in a fist and turned, taking absolute control of you. White hot adrenaline poured through your body, bursting fresh with each hard pound of your heart and stuttering your every breath. That iron grip jerked back, forcing you to crane your head back with it and look up at the imposing bulk of Beckman looming over at you.

“You want me to fuck you?” he growled dangerously, leering down at you with a growing scowl. Steadily he curled himself down until his nose bumped yours and you were sure you could see how the lighting and lust had turned his eyes from shining silver to dark stone. The light pulsing in your scalp was no match for the shadowed face and piercing eyes of Beckman taking over your every thought and dragging your heartbeat low to drum between your legs. “Fine. I’ll fuck you like the slut you’re set on being.”

“I’ll happily be a slut if it's for you,” you breathed out before you could think, sounding nearly in a trance from his sudden dominant behavior.

The declaration had his cock jumping and his knees weak.

“Darlin’,” he moaned, voice stretched thin by his taut, straining need. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He surged down, stealing your lips in a bruising kiss, using his hold on your hair to control every tilt and press. Right away, you opened to each other, exploring the flavor of each other’s tongues and indulging in the tingles brought on by sliding the slick muscles over each other. You shivered and moaned when he flicked the point of his tongue on the roof of your mouth and he swallowed the sound down greedily. Never breaking his claim on your lips, Beckman hauled you up to your feet. The action set a pleasant burn on your scalp as you chase the pull of his grip. Your hands went back to work on getting his cock free, but he snatched them up.

“No,” he rumbled against your lips. “You’re just going to take what I give you.”

“Beckman,” you whined back to him between your continued fervent kisses, “let me touch you.”

“Sluts don’t make demands,” he snapped in a bitter taunt. Using his height to his advantage, he pulled out of the reach of your lips. He was still able to lean down over you and keep distance, forcing you to keep your head craned back with his fist in your hair and his gaze holding you hostage. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“I want you,” you moaned in complaint. Though your voice was warbly with want, your tone was way too petulant to be considered begging. Even so, it was testing his resolve.

“You’ll have me,” he answered gruffly. 

Before you could realize what was happening, you were flipped around and swapped, now facing the rough wall of the bar with Beckman right behind you. He had released your hair so he could trap each of your wrists to your sides. He kicked your feet to spread with heavy boots and settled eagerly against your ass. He anchored you against him by pulling on your wrists, keeping you trapped against his grinding hips. The height difference had him centered at the level of your tailbone. The feeling of having you against his cock was overwhelming, especially with the plush of your ass massaging at his sensitive balls. Quiet grunts accompanied each circle of his hips, always carried with the erotic sound of his heavy breaths.

You tilted forward and arched your hips up, seeking attention against your weeping entrance and swollen clit. The change had his dick nestle between your cheeks, the base of his cock and his tense balls giving you a small piece of the pleasure you were seeking. He stood just barely too tall for them to give any attention to your clit, causing you to shift and shimmy back into him in search of more. Despite the lack of direct stimulation, your body was still in a pleasant buzz; he felt large and heavy and hot against you and your mind was swimming in joy at how hard you made him. The open-mouthed groan you earned from him with your squirming shot enough pleasure through you to have your clit pulsing.

“On your toes, slut,” he ordered.

You listened without thinking about it and were rewarded with the new height lining him up much better to grind against everywhere you wanted him. Well - almost everywhere. Most of all you ached for him to massage you inside out, rub and dig into every slick plush space you could offer. Despite the burn already entering your calves, you tilted your ass up even higher to feel any extra speck of friction you could get from him.

Beckman’s grip on your hips was commanding, he owned your every sway and grind of your clothed cunt and ass against him. The skirt you were wearing was beginning to ride up with each thrust, exposing inch after inch of fresh skin to his hungry eyes. Both of you thanked your choice of garment as he used one hand to shove it up and over your perked ass to hang limply around your waist. It swayed and brushed your legs with each continued motion, hypnotizing Beckman for a moment. 

That moment was broken when he instead looked at your ass, smooshed high and round with each grind, your underwear cutting sinful lines across the muscle, making your skin pop around the tension in the most mouth-watering way. It had Beckman moaning from deep in his chest again and thanking whatever lucky stars he had that let him have you in front of him like this. The sight mixed with the new heat from being just that much closer to getting to your bare cunt had a flurry of possessiveness and need overcome him. He nearly bowed forward to the strength of it, but fought the call so he could keep watching your body writhe against him.

You had no doubt you were sopping wet, more than enough to make his slide in slick. Each grind of him against you had your soaked panties dragging with him, causing sharp friction that was just on the right side of too much. You wondered faintly if you were getting his pants wet too, wishing you could easily turn and see to find out. You wouldn’t have been disappointed; a steady dark spot had built on his crotch from a mix of your leaking pussy and his weeping cock. You had gotten him dripping pre-cum the moment you began kissing down his chest. It had only gotten worse with each touch, his body desperate and ready to be inside you.

Suddenly, one of his hands and his hips disappeared from you, leaving you feeling lost. Before you could stop yourself, you let out a whining moan at the loss, sounding fucked out and pathetic without either of you truly being touched yet. The small coherent part of yourself marveled at the number he had done on you.

“Don’t you worry, pretty thing,” Beckman grumbled, half placating and half condescending. The sound of shuffling fabric clued you in to his missing hand’s task. “I’ll give you just what you need.”

His large fingers hooked into the sides of your underwear, guiding them over your ass until they fell down. Your slightly spread legs had them catch on your thighs and Beckman huffed at the inconvenience.

“Stay right there,” he rumbled in warning as he crouched down. He dragged the soaked cloth the rest of the way off, guiding you with gentle cues. The slide of his fingertips down your legs sent tingles across your skin, but the delicate hold he put on each ankle to ease them out of the garment had your heart thumping. In this process his touch switched from tyrannical to reverent, making your mind sing with hope. That song only hit a great crescendo when he peppered the backs of your thighs with sweet and slow kisses.

As he rose back up and shoved the ruined cloth in his pocket, Beckman broke you both out of his worshiping trance by giving a playful and slightly mean nip to your left hip. You let out a little yelp despite yourself and he chuckled at the reaction, finding it absurdly cute. You shivered again at the throaty sound, nerves too easily tweaked from your potent anticipation. It only got worse when his hips found yours again.

Both of you moaned at the feeling of finally meeting skin to skin, immediately addicted to the wet heat and heady throb of each other. You sent your hips high with renewed vigor, spurred on by the need to chase more of the feeling of his thick cock against you. You were right about him being thick and long; his grinds spread your folds wide, exposing your entrance and clit to the sweet friction, and he laid across the length of your pelvis. It let him see the leaking red head of his cock peeking out from between your cheeks, the filthy image making his eyes roll back and an involuntary moan of “fuck, darlin’” growl out of him.

Beckman hooked his right arm around your front, nestling it as close to the tops of your thighs as he could get. It let him use your hip bones for stability in his hold, saving you from your weight crushing the limb into your stomach. The anticipation of feeling your legs bounce against his arm while he fucks you had him salivating.

He curled his arm, pulling your lower back flush to his abs. It made him take your weight, the toes of your shoes just barely scuffing the ground when you pointed them. You’d seen his insane strength before, but feeling it used on you had your body lighting on fire along with your cheering mind. Beckman’s other hand slid from your hip down and in on your thigh, spreading and lifting your leg until he was holding the inside of your knee out to the side. It left your cunt exposed to him, each grind of his further mixing your arousal with the pre-cum spreading down his cock. 

“Hold that wall and keep your voice down,” Beckman instructed, “Unless you’re such a whore you need an audience.”

You let out a complaining moan at the harsh words but still writhed eagerly against him, unable to deny how they had you fluttering in anticipation. Your hands found purchase on the stone wall in front of you, giving you a sense of balance and security in your barely supported upper body. You were close to it so your arms were bent, allowing you strength and leverage. The force behind his grinds had you sure you’d need it.

Slowly and deliberately, Beckman slid his cock from root to tip between your slick folds, threatening you with his impressive length while he made sure he was properly coated. He only stalled the movement when his thick tip found its way down to your entrance. Unable to help himself, he ground a tight circle around it, groaning out a deep “fuck” at the feeling of your cunt trying its best to suck him in. You let out another keening moan, sounding vaguely like “please”, at the realization that his head was the perfect width to stretch you out right to the edge of your limits.

Angling his hips just right, Beckman followed the catch of your entrance to start forcing his way into you. You were right about the size of him; only his mushroomed tip was in and you already felt like your hips were being pressed wider. His achingly slow sink into you let you both feel every overwhelming bit of contact, every delicious rub of soaked skin on skin. Your mouth hung open, letting out appreciative moans, even though your attempts to hold them back left them clipped and jumbled.

Beckman had to shut his eyes and scrunch his brow to handle all the sensations flooding him. You felt so goddamn perfect wrapped around him. He felt somewhere in his being that you were made to be here with each other and force bliss from your pounding hearts and bodies. He finally fell to the call to curl as close to you as possible, his temple rested on yours, his stubble teasing your cheek, and stray gray hairs sweeping down to tickle your skin.

“So, so good, darlin’,” he praised breathlessly. He made it another inch into you, offering your cunt more firm flesh to clamp down on. “You feel better than a dream -nnngh- got the perfect pussy for me.”

An unrestrained moan tumbled past your lips at his praise, brain too empty and body too happy to care about anything anymore other than him and the feelings he brought out in you. The cheering and music from the bar was loud enough to lightly leak through the walls, so you wouldn’t have worried too much about attracting attention anyway. 

He hadn’t prepped you any, but the abundant arousal sitting in your body so long loosened you up and made sure there was more than enough lubrication for him, especially with the addition of his own. His torturously slow press into you helped your body make room for him too. In fact, your pussy was so eager to open for him he felt like your walls were trying to suck him in quicker as they quaked and trembled around him. It made it near impossible to resist the urge to shove as deep into you as he could go, needing the hot grip of you around his aching cock and the pleasure of your plush ass and thighs pressed tight against his hips.

When he finally got there, you were both shaking and gasping. Your head felt light with the amount of bliss swimming through you at finally having him like this, held tightly in you while you shared your bodies. It also helped that he had you feeling so deliciously full; the press of him was potent enough to spread through your sides and up through your chest. It was the biggest stretch you’d taken but his size was just perfect, like he was built just to fit you and you him. The weight of his thick cock rested down towards your stomach, primed to massage your every favorite nerve.

“Just like that, darlin’,” Beckman groaned, starting his first pull back out of you. He continued with his slow speed to make you feel every ridge and vein in detail. Your favorite was the rim of his head dragging across your swollen walls. He sat that head just within your entrance and paused. “Bein’ such a good little slut.”

Right at the end of his praise, he shoved forward to fully sheathe himself back in you. The force of the thrust pressed the air from your lungs, creating a breathy moan, and gave you a taste of pleasure that had you certain that no matter how long he fucked you, you’d always want more of this potent bliss. You could live like this, fucked the rest of your life, just so long as he never stopped taking and touching you. He continued the strong and steady pace, needing to savor every second in your cunt, memorize every twitch and flutter. It had you whining, mind fraying under the threat of how much more he could give you.

“Beckman,” you moaned in frustration. “Give me more, I -ahhh- I need it.”

A punishing thrust had you feel him in your throat and your eyes rolled back in time with your high pitched moan. That moan turned into a rough whine when he stayed sat fully inside you instead of continuing. To tease you further, he began tight circles against you, making his pulsing cock play with every inch of your cunt, earning him a tight clench from you. This tantalizing rub continued as he moved to nip at your ear lobe.

“What did I say about making demands,” he warned, rumbling the words right against your ear. The puffs of his breaths shot goose bumps up your neck. He tilted his head down to tease his teeth over the flesh and continued his maddening little circles against you. With one leg trapped in his grip and the other barely reaching the ground, you had almost no leverage to work yourself back against him. Your abs burned with the effort as you tried to use your grip on the wall to stabilize yourself and grind back, but his iron grip was much stronger than any of your attempts.

You sobbed out a few needy moans at his continued meticulous playing with your body. Though you wanted so much more right away, that steady press of him waking up every inch of your insides was starting to build a pit deeper in your stomach than the one you were used to. Your mouth watered at the thought of what a full body high it could bring you but it felt so far away and you wanted to be smothered in pleasure now.

“Beckman,” you whined out, catching the way it made his breath hitch over your skin. “More, harder.”

Nothing changed and you were stuck spread open and suspended and at the mercy of his whims. It was the most deliciously frustrating thing you’d ever experienced, being forced to take the slow treatment. It made your body and mind agonize over every little sensation, every pulse and throb, every inch of you he reached that you’d never felt before. It made your ears take in the obscene sound of the little motions of his cock pushing drop after drop of your arousal out of your entrance to drip down his balls and your thigh. You flushed at how graphic it sounded, ears, face, and neck burning, especially with your combined heavy breaths and mixed moans and groans.

“You’re gonna have to try much harder than that, pretty little thing,” he goaded. You could hear the taunting condescension in his voice and you cursed the fact that it made your pussy spasm around him. The twitch of his cock that it earned inside you swelled your desperation to feel more from him until it swallowed your pride whole.

“Please,” you gasped, near truly sobbing in need. “Pleeeeease, fuck me harder, Beck, fuck me faster, please, just -hhhah- just need more.”

Beckman sucked harshly on your neck and set about answering your pleas. He changed right to fucking you fast and hard, making you yelp at the immediate flood of sensation. Your thigh and hips jumped in his grasp as you tried to take the onslaught. Every nerve in your pussy burned in the most beautiful way, emptying your head of any thoughts other than Beckman working your body into a quick frenzy. His teeth, lips, and tongue were decorating the sensitive skin of your neck; his hands and arm were clamped, making you feel blessedly trapped; his torso hovered on the back of yours, giving you brushes of his hard working muscles in motion; and his cock - his perfect cock - was bullying you open over and over and lighting every quaking inch of you ablaze.

Through your panting breaths and scattered moans, you could hear the wet slap of his hips against you, each impact making a little more arousal gush out of you. Being spread as you were also let his heavy balls tap against your clit with each hard thrust, ensuring every wired part of your pussy was seen to. You could barely form words but you were sure he caught the slurred praises you sent his way from how he echoed them back and kept adding more and more heat, pressure, grind, suck, and drag on you at your breathless moaning.

Stuck on the start of the encounter, he kept repeating a favored phrase to you - “So good, darlin’, such a good fucking slut”.

“Your slut,” you panted, “only -hnngh- yours.”

The pledge of ownership had his eyes rolling back and his mouth more ravenous against your skin. He needed to keep you locked to him forever, be on your skin forever, brand you as his, and have you mark him as yours.

“That’s right, darlin’,” he rasped, “only mine.”

He dropped your suspended thigh in favor of sinking a bruising grip into your hip. Your thighs clapped together with a wet smack, forcing a yelp from you as it jolted your clit. He placed an apologetic kiss on your shoulder and got right back to his tempo. The deep pressure he’d built with his deliberate grinding was now added to by every thrust, creating a shaking warning of the orgasm to come that sat from hip to hip and up to your ribs. It felt like he was fucking you just as deep, each drive of his cock seeming to replace the beating of your heart in your chest.

The new dancing on your toes had your calves, thighs, and abs working in sporadic clenches and twitches, the jerks and shifts causing pulses around your clit and into your trembling cunt. The new position made him feel all the wider as it let your labia relax around him and light up with delicious friction on each thrust in and pull out. The squeeze of your legs and muscles also put constant pressure on your clit, which Beckman would jostle with each forceful fuck into you. 

All of it was getting to be too much and you were happily drowning under the rising tide of that threatening orgasm. It was swimming through your body so thoroughly you were sure you could feel each strong thrust pull pleasure from your very bones. Every piece of you that lived between your hips felt blinding white hot and pulsing and alive and so so very good. 

The cherry on top of your euphoria were the pieces of the feeling you could hear echoed in Beckman. His voice was deep and groaning but also strained and fucked out as it whispered dark praises against your neck and shoulder. His breath was ragged and just as desperate as his touch, which was trying its best to permanently attach to your skin. His aching cock was just as responsive as your trembling pussy, dripping and twitching and jumping with each move and touch of your body.

Responding to the telling grip of your cunt clamping down constantly around him, Beckman slowed his pace slightly, focusing instead on the strength of each thrust and keeping his angle just right to drag you to your end. It accented the sound of each strong clap of his hips into yours and brought back clarity to the feeling of his thick cock spearing you. Your mouth hung open, panting and watering from the change of pace and unending pound and pull of him fucking your cunt into the shape of him.

“Beckman, Beckman, Beckman -ahh!- so cloooose,” you cried, voice thin and desperate. He cursed and moaned in response, the sound of you nearly making him lose himself and cum before you. He kept his pace pounding into you, each firm fuck lighting up your tightening walls and bouncing through your swollen folds and thighs to drum on your clit. Your head was swimming; despite your fast and canting breaths, you felt like you couldn't breathe, the air escaping you with each thrust beating a needy moan from your open mouth. The burn for oxygen only added to the tightly wound pleasure gripping you from throat to cunt, clawing tightest from your hips in, held steady between his sturdy hands. 

Your toes and fingers tingled numbly in anticipation and shook just like the rest of you. Instinct tilted your hips just a degree higher, letting the tip of his dick tap just so against your cervix, ramping the overwhelming build even higher than you thought possible. Your moans yelped out sharper and higher amid sobs of “don’t stop, don’t stop, pleeeeease”, making Beckman groan and curse in his own mind-numbing arousal and frantic fight not to cum first.

A few more thrusts blazing across your cunt and shaking deep in your gut had the tension finally burst. You felt it first in the shot of electricity from your clit down to your toes and up to your buzzing head, before the tight pulse of your muscles took over everything. You writhed and shook against Beckman as he held you like a lifeline, trying desperately to fuck you through every second of heaven you could feel instead of following you over the edge. Each jerk and clench of your body gave you more and more bliss, the squeeze of you so tight and sure that it felt like there was only room for Beckman’s large cock in your body. 

He couldn’t manage to pull even an inch out of your cunt, too weak to deny himself the bliss of feeling you cum, so he guided you through with shallow but heavy thrusts. Each tap on your cervix swelled you more and more until you weren’t sure if you had already cum or there was something else building on the other side of this endless screaming song in your nerves. Your answer came with the feeling of a snap that switched your cunt from long pulses into frantic milking down on Beckman’s jolting cock. Each squeeze was powerful enough to cause a full jerk and shudder of your hips, having you slip and grind in Beckman’s clawing hold on your hips.

“Fuck, darlin’, sweetheart, fu-uuuck, you’re too good, too much -ngah!- so goddamn perfect,” Beckman moaned out a stream of mindless praises while he shoved his forehead into the side of your neck, your only anchor in the torrent of sensation ripping through your body. After an eternity, your muscles and nerves began to relax, leaving your body feeling limp and heavy in the wake of your pleasure. You were positive nothing worked anymore except for your clit and cunt, both still drooling and twitching over Beckman’s shallow thrusts. You were thankful your closed legs kept the attention from overstimulating you fully. Beckam felt your body relax, getting an addicting sense of pride from fucking you into a limp puddle, and finally took to chasing his own pleasure.

“Need to see you,” he gasped, flipping you around and desperately pressing his twitching cock back into you. He shuddered at the relief, feeling ravenous and untethered every second he couldn’t be inside you. All his sanity was now held in the taste of your skin, the pleasure in your voice, and the sweet clench of your plush cunt. Pressing your foreheads together, he made it impossible to look anywhere but at each other. Even in the low light that managed to sneak between the buildings with you, Beckman’s silver eyes glowed while taking you in. The color looked sharper pressed thin by his lust-blown pupils and you were hypnotized as his gaze swallowed you whole. 

Seeing the needy scrunch of his brows and the way he switched back and forth between clenching his jaw and hanging his mouth open to moan freely sent fresh sparks straight down to your clit. Having your legs spread around him had his racing thrusts teetering you on the edge of overstimulation, but it was well worth the sight and feeling of him rabidly chasing down his pleasure in your cunt. He was mindless and rutting in his need, enjoying your sopping heat contrasting with your nails scrabbling for purchase on his broad shoulders. The hug of your thighs around his waist kept him close and added to the wondrously tight clench of you that seemed to spread over his whole body. He was so, so close he just needed one little nudge.

“Beckman, please, need you -hahhn- need you to cum in me,” you begged, tone broken from all your moaning.

He was kicked right over the edge, barking out a deep “fuck” at the power of the orgasm shredding through him. He jerked his lips down to yours, holding you in an open mouthed kiss full of tongue and teeth and groans. He shoved himself as close as he could get to you, trapping you near painfully tight against the stone wall with his pressing bulk, demanding lips, and throbbing cock. His dick jumped hard with each pump of hot sticky cum deep in your cunt. It warmed you inside out and mixed with the heady knowledge that you’d completely unraveled this imposing man to unexpectedly drag you into a milder orgasm of your own. Each heavy jerk of him helped guide you through your own bliss, bodies working in perfect synch to have every pump answered with a coaxing squeeze. It kept you both suspended in your mindless heaven until you’d wrung every bit of pleasure from each other that your bodies could possibly give. 

Beckman was certain that you’d sucked his very soul from him if the numb and clumsy feeling of his body was anything to go by. It wasn’t ready to listen to him, acting like it belonged to someone else and he supposed that was true; it was yours now. You’d held his heart a long time and his mind even longer, so it was only fitting that you owned his body too. 

You didn’t seem to be doing much better with being in charge of your body, eyes half-lidded and lashes fluttering against the need to close. You were a vision - your foggy and affectionate gaze glued to him from under dark lashes, the flush tinting your sweat-damp skin, your lips parted and kiss-swollen, hair a wild crown around your head, decorating your face with stray strands. He studied and admired the image of you fucked-out and languid with eagerness and reverence. You were doing much the same, enjoying his mussed silver waves of soft locks, his gently shining eyes, the hints of red on the apples of his cheeks and his chest, the heavy rise and fall of his sculpted shoulders as he tried to catch his breath.

The sound of a drinking song spiking high in volume snuck through the wall and shattered your illusion of privacy. You were both suddenly back against the side of the bar instead of whatever pocket world you had carved out for just yourselves. Beckman continued to hold you steady as he slowly let your tired legs down, your skirt following after to hang back in place. Your legs shook under you like it was your first time standing and you laughed at their clumsiness. Beckman cracked a loving smile at you, stealing your breath and halting your chuckles. Again the melody within the bar seeped out to you clearly and you laughed even louder this time when you recognized one of Shanks’ favorite tunes. While he tucked himself away, Beckman raised a brow at your cackling until he recognized the song too and added his own gentle laughter to yours.

Looking him straight in the eyes, you fought to sing along properly through your bubbling giggles.

“I took that lass and smacked her ass

Said darlin you’re comin’ with me”

He took your hips and pulled you to him, guiding you in the closest to a swaying dance that your uncooperative legs would allow. He quietly joined you on the next lines, treating you to the deep and raspy parts of his voice that lived in his chest.

“Ain’t got a hall but we’ll use the wall

Just give me an hour or three”

“What do you say, darlin’?” Beckman asked with humor dancing in the light reflections in his eyes. There was a seriousness underlying his tone in his next question, however. “Willing to give me a few more hours?”

You gave him a sweet smile but turned it coy, your attitude sneaking back as your mind stabilized. “You’ve got one to convince me to keep you.”

Beckman huffed out a laugh at your bite coming back and leaned down to kiss your forehead affectionately. He took a moment to rest his cheek atop your head, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, delicately tinged with a touch of sweat and sex. It had him shiver and start to twitch back to life. Slowly, he trailed kisses from the top of your head to the tip of your ear. His warm breath made you shiver and begin to heat again as well.

“Sweet darlin’,” Beckman mumbled, lips tickling the rim of your ear, “I’ll have you back to begging for me in half the time. Gotta show you that I don’t just know how to fuck; I can worship.”

[rosemary-writes]

How he holds you

(Lost boys x gender neutral reader headcanons)

Warnings: Marko being a lil cheeky

Authors note: heeeyy chickens, long time no see♡I transferred to university and I have little to no time to write stuff like this anymore. Buut since it’s October, I gotta do my fav boys

David

-David doesn’t really hold you per say. You more or less cling and hold on to him.

-He doesn’t like seeming too vulnerable or soft when in public. Especially while on the boardwalk and the surf nazis are out and about

-However, if you’re standing next to him, he will casually put his hand on the back of yours. Theres something about his palm resting on your hand that just makes him feel content

-When you two are in the cave and hes sitting in his chair or on the couch, he always beckons you to sit on his lap. While you’re on his lap, he’ll snake his arm around your back and rest his hand on your thigh or butt.

-While he says its to “keep hold of what's his” it’s also so your back isnt digging into the metal of his wheelchair.

-It’s old and rusty and he doesnt really want you to be squirming cause it’s hurting your skin

-Some nights when the two of you are alone or you had a bad day, he lets you lay on his chest while he lays down on the couch.

-Your hands fall to his chest and his arms will wrap around you to keep you pressed comfortably against him.

-Even though his heart no longer beats, you swear you sometimes hear faint thumps when you mumble how much you love him into his chest

-Overall 6/10 cause he only holds you back every few weeks.

Dwayne

-Dwayne isn’t afraid to wrap an arm around your waist or hips while in public. It’s his way of showing people that you’re his partner and to keep you close to him

-He’ll sometimes put his fingers through your belt loops

-When meeting up in public, he’ll loosely wrap his arms around your hips while giving you a kiss. When meeting you in private, like at your house, he will actually give you a decent hug

-I like to think that Dwayne will link pinkies with you while walking around the boardwalk sometimes. He thinks it’s really sweet.

-When you two are in the cave, he’ll come up behind you and snake his arms around you and rest his head on your shoulder. His stubble tends to tickle your neck a bit

-he might take in a big inhale of your scent

-When you two cuddle, hes pulling you so close to him that you’re practically smothering him

-He loves it

-His hands will move all over the place. Your back, hips, thighs, butt, maybe one in your hair

-If you fall asleep, hes on cloud 9. He’ll most likely move you both into a small nest spot in the cave and either fall asleep with you or stay awake to watch you sleep. If you guys are at your place, he watches over you while you sleep.

-10/10 cause his cuddles are top notch

Paul

-Paul can’t keep his hands to himself so hes holding you all the damn time.

-Had a bad day? Let him hold you, he wants to make you feel better

-Theres a puddle on the ground? He’ll carry you over it

-Yikes babe, your shoe is untied, guess he’s gotta hold you so you don’t trip

-Yeah, hes very touchy

-Out on the boardwalk he loves to hold your hands. Like, he hates having to let go of your hand if you have to do something.

-Heaven forbid you want to eat or need to sneeze

-On the occasions where he takes you flying with him, he keeps you so close to him. He would never drop you but theres been a few times where you slipped from his grasp and it spooked you. So, he’ll have an iron grip on you while flying over the ocean or Santa Carla

-If you’re ever with him when he’s having a smoke sesh, he goes to maximum handsyness. God help you if you need to pee

-Like Dwayne, his hands are going everywhere, but hes gripping you as if you’re going to float away.

-He loves keeping you close because you’re so warm against his cold body. His cold hands will slip under your shirt and move around. He’s not trying to tickle you, he just loves how warm your back is.

-9.5/10 because his hands are cold as hell

Marko

-Marko’s not as handsy as the others

-Once in a blue moon, Marko lets you wrap your arms around him and he will envelop you in his jacket. It’s warm and it’s a really rare soft moment with him. It only happens when you forget a jacket and you’re both on the boardwalk and it’s freezing. Surprisingly, hes warm because of how thick his jacket is

-However, he mostly keeps a hand in your back pocket or he’ll pinch your butt. If hes showing you something, he takes your hand to lead you.

-Thats about as far as it goes in public.

-However, in private, it is a totally different scene

-He likes to hold you from behind. He sneaks up and wraps his arms around you while shoving his face into your hair

-He’ll only do this when no one is around. He does not want the others to see him like this.

-He does like to cuddle with you. He’s the big spoon and youre always the little spoon

-The feeling of your body expanding while breathing tends to calm him down since he easily gets wound up.

-While spooning you, he’ll lean forward just a bit to kiss you on the cheek. He will also sometimes entwine your hands and kiss the back of your hand.

-He warms up underneath the covers with you.

-Moments like that remind him that it’s okay to be relaxed with others

-I give him a 7/10

[sister-of-hitoshi]

IM BACK AGAIN BUT WITH OUT THE COVER OF AN ANON!!! Can I get another Mr. Villain x reader? This time can I pleaseee have the reader be a baker? Making him cute lil cupcakes with panda faces!!!!

To my loveliest @crystalmonk5579 of course!!! Thanks a lot for coming again and requesting ಥ⁠‿⁠ಥ <33 I can only hope that I didn't disappoint, sorry for the delay (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

Sending you love!

Adultered Confections

Genre: Fluff

Anime: Mr Villain's Day off

Character: Warumono-san/ Mr Villain

Word count: 1k+

Note: That gif is literally just him coming to terms with his new-found feelings sensations 😭

"Ahhh~ look at that cloud, it looks just like his fluffy hair"

You sigh, your consciousness floating in a happy dream before the ding of the oven jolted you up from your slumber, starting a chain reaction which finally ended up with a bag of flour all over you.

"Why do all my dreams always end up like this! Ugh." You exasperatedly made your way to the oven while patting your face to take out the cupcakes. This was your new recipe, and you wanted it to be a hit. Although a small batch among them was way more special than the rest.

They were the panda themed cupcakes for your crush.

"I know I currently look bad but all this pain would be so worth it if only he was here to comfort me and pat all this flour off" You animatedly nodded to yourself, satisfied with your own reasoning while being completely ignorant to the jingle of the shop door-bell.

A pat on your back and you screamed- almost.

Turning around you were met face to face with the guy-of-your-dreams. He first stared at you, and then stared at his fingers covered with flour.

"Would you like me to help you in some way?"

He was a kind man, the kindest you've ever met, and extraordinarily handsome on top of that.

"Pat all this flour off of me!!-" Wait wait- that came out without much thought!!- "-....please?"

How could I be so bold??! You internally screamed. You were about to immediately correct your 'mistake' when he took out his handkerchief.

"Excuse me then" he said, and started patting your face.

You immediately closed your eyes shut, only taking small peeks at him out of embarrassment. You would be lying if you didn't admit to feeling heartbroken at his lack of reaction.

But well that's just who he was. A calm and composed man.

Surely girls would be throwing themselves at him. You haven't even been able to express your interest in him properly except for well- giving him freebies everytime he came regardless of whether he bought something or not, always make light talk with him to know about his interests and days, chalking out his day-off routine using all the "classified information" - things he tells you about himself, pack extra sweets, keep your shop open longer on particular days of his visit and also-

Yeah, you get it.

I'm a rock- I'm a r.o.c.k

You continued to chant your newfound mantra in your head until he was done with dusting patting flour off of you. You opened your eyes and thanked him shyly, promising to repay his kindness. But of course, you being a blind, non-living rock, failed to notice his blushing eartips.

All the while he was busy doing his job of cleaning you and staring at your face a little bit more than that his ears had felt a bit warm, his heart had felt warmer, and he had this tingling sensation in his stomach. It had actually been quite a few times when he has felt this sort of unfamiliar sensation now, but today it felt more intense.

"So, how did you land up like this?"

He asked, tilting his head. So adorable-

"Well I was making these cup- OHH!!"

"Please wait it's a surprise for you!-" Without waiting for a reply, you swiftly turned around, ready to dash towards the oven when your head hit a nearby rack which somehow caused a box of wooden spatulas of varied shapes to fall on your head somehow, which triggered another chain reaction somehow which again ended up with a bag of flour all over you. Really, again.

"....I really really can't believe my luck!!!"

You exclaimed exasperatedly, looking down at your feet. That's it I look like a fool in front of him I'm so so embarrassed let me just dig up a hole and bury myself there maybe even do-

"Pfft-"

You looked up at him and caught him smiling down at you. You were blessed with his laugh, okay time for me to be in heaven now which he was trying so hard to hold in.

His mind only repeated one word to him, over and over again. Cute.

Cute cute cute cute cute-

"Um... I know it's really weird that I'm like this- I mean would you mind doing it no- no- I'm sorry-" you were trying to find the best words that would fit your current situation while grabbing at your work uniform by it's hem and blushing, when his actions stopped you from rambling further. He had again started to clean you up with another handkerchief now, all the while smiling at you.

For some reason, even my neck feels very tingly now.

Wait- he always felt this way when he was with you...had you mixed something in your confectionery?!

He was almost going to become very serious about this situation and ask you about the ingredients. But then you looked up at him and smiled-

He lost all his composure. He could do nothing except for continuing to stare at you and reply with a robotic 'welcome'.

"Umm then... Would you like to come with me over here? I really doubt my luck right now so.."

"Sure thing" He smiled and complied, now standing beside you while you took out whatever you had baked for the day.

But then you suddenly grabbed his hands to save yourself from tripping.

His entire being went on high alert as he swiftly positioned himself behind you, your back being supported by his broad chest. His ears were completely red now.

"T-that was close!!" You shouted out, completely flustered. You were feeling perturbed now, anything could happen to you and your cupcakes with this dull luck of yours. Both his hands were supporting your shoulders now to help you stabilize, so taking this as an opportunity, you nudged the tray towards him without turning around.

Here goes nothing-

"Panda themed cupcakes for my most cherished customer and special person.... Hope you l-like them."

"Is this a gift?"

"Yes, of course, now hurry up and take it!"

He continued to stare at them for a few seconds, before taking one in his hand, all the while the other one holding your shoulder continued to tremble.

What is this texture?!!

He studied the cupcake, like it was some state-of-the-art sculpture. The texture of the panda cupcake was so fluffy, it looked so soft, it gazed at him so lovingly his sense of guilt almost compelled him to say no-

You had turned around.

Your eyes met his.

Your eyes

He immediately stuffed his face with two cupcakes.

The taste was so blissful he imagined himself being hugged by soft giant pandas... and you?

You were there hugging him?

He immediately snapped out of his blissful trance, your voice calling out to him very sweetly, asking him if he liked it, telling him that it was a special recipe for him and him only.

"Oh..."

He squeezed his coat fabric.

This feeling....it had nothing to do with the ingredients used. It was the baker, you, all along.

[fluffs-n-stuffs]

KEI WHEN I GET YOU .

/AFFECTIONATE /SCREAMIJNG /IN TE A R S 😭😭😭💖💖💖💕💕💕

For those who missed it !!! This is the third piece in a preciousmetalshipping and dad!Lance-focused narrative that has just been a master craft in character exploration and this Absolutely Gorgeously written portrayal of both familial and young blossoming love - all with its twists and turns and the internalized doubts that come with the prior background of having been the son of the head honcho of Team Rocket.

I am Begging for y'all to check it out whenever y'all can cause it has been a dear fave of mine to follow and these last two pieces in particular have made me So Unbelievably Insane in a fantastic manner (just in time for Lance week no less) that I just Need to express it to more people however I could 🥺😭🫵💖💖💖

(The first and second parts of it could be found here !!! HIGHLY recommend y'all check those out first for the Full heart-wrenching yet beautifully fulfilling and heartwarming experience 💫✨✨✨)

"falling and floating" | preciousmetalshipping & dad!lance

"But you're here with me and Lugia right now, Silver, so I can't help but wonder: why did you follow us here in the first place?"

The question, simple as it may be, stunned Silver as if he was struck by lightning, paralyzing him from making much movement. Jaws slacked, he cycled through shock, shame, and denial in a single moment only to give up in the end with a huff. His lilac eyes gazed at him for a split second before drifting away, but that single look was enough for Ethan to glean the hidden message beneath, one that Silver wouldn't be caught dead saying out in the open: because I trust you.

Or: Ethan, like any sane trainer out there, took Silver to skydive as a means to alleviate his friend's stress. There were no accidents when they were aided by Ethan's trusty Lugia, but the same couldn't be said for their feelings and relationships.

A trilogy to "today, i love you" and "worthy of all the love in the world".

[pistachiofiasco]

terror, touch, dawn

Pairing: Gilbert von Obsidian x Reader Genre: comfort, character-introspective(?) Words: 2657 Warnings: some allusions to canon-type violence; spoilers for Gilbert's route

Also on AO3!

surprise! I'm back with another one folks. this got moulded into so many different shapes before it settled into this. i had wanted it to be more, but i've been so deprived of gil content that i'm feeling a lil uninspired smh

beta read by the ever-wonderful @scummy-writes - thank you for putting up w my ramblings about very specific wording

Gilbert von Obsidian knew fear. He had experienced it so much throughout his life after all.

And yet, as he closed his bedroom door and turned to find a familiar figure curled up in the black sheets of his bed, he wondered if he had ever experienced this.

It was different from the fear he remembered feeling towards the creature that had been considered his father. He remembers the distance, the avoidance, the protection, the childish feeling of needing to stay away from whatever that thing that stalked the palace hallways was. After the turning point – the image flashes unbidden in his mind again, always, always returning: black stone and black skies and heads on pikes and the sheer abject disinterest from those around him – his fear merged with his hate. In the Emperor's last moments, Gilbert realised one of his greatest fears had already become a truth: he was as much a monster as the man whose body fell and disappeared from his sight.

It was different still from the fear which lurked deep in his heart, which echoed with every thump of his cane, which lingered in every footprint he left behind. The fear he had been taught, which had been carved so carefully into the dark marrow of his bones. No one could be trusted. Every interaction would be analysed, every person would be guilty until proven innocent, every action would be a source of suspicion. It became fuel: for every moment of fear Gilbert felt, he paid it back twice-fold. He was the most feared man on the continent now. Every betrayal, every deceit, every knife was returned. This was Obsidian after all, lessons had to be learnt. It had always been this way.

It was different even from the fear he felt about his sickness. In his youth, he had been afraid of spending his entire life locked in his rooms. He longed to breathe fresh air and play in the grass like other children did. He wanted to feel the sun warm his skin as flowers swayed in the wind around him. In his weakest hours as a child, he would stare beyond the curtains of his bedframe, beyond the curtains of his windows, poised like delicate and intricate bars of a prison. Half-awake, his eyes would linger on clouds that floated so far out of reach of anyone or anything. He would wonder what it could possibly be like to be so free. As he grew older, he found Rhoderic and made plans – plans for a new Obsidian, a new order, a new world even – and his fear changed shape. It was no longer about where it would trap him, but when. There was so much work to be done, so many fine lines to tread and needles to thread. So much to dismantle. Every moment had to be worth something, no matter how much pain he was in.

Fear was a normal part of Gilbert von Obsidian's life. Receiving or inflicting, it was so ingrained in him that sometimes it barely registered anymore. It was fear that had brought him this far after all.

This was different. A feeling unique, reserved only for you (so many things in his life were just for you).

It was still quite novel to him, to walk into his bedroom of at least ten years and find you sleeping so soundly. His life had been full of novelty since he had pulled you into it and you had decided to stay. Mostly, he was delighted. Sometimes, the pit that opened up in his stomach threatened to swallow him whole. And very rarely, he would feel like this. Breath caught, chest tight, eyes wide, a pounding echoing from the back of his head throughout his whole body. Terror coursing through every inch of him. And it was from you. You, who wept for everyone's pain but your own. You, who reached your hand out to everyone with no lies in your heart. You, who had accepted his everything as it was, whose only wish for him was to find his happiness again.

You, who loved him.

(He knew this, though it still didn't make any sense to him. He had called your love absurd and mad and baffling more times than he could count. He knew it, and you took every opportunity to show it (soft affections and stern lectures both), though he understood that he still didn't trust it. Trust you. It was a discussion you had had before, a truth that you faced with your usual determination and clarity, even as the weight of it tilted his world view.)

This feeling brought out his worst traits. The easiest solution was always to remove the source. It made his vision blurry and made that old voice sing (kill it kill it kill it). It was the closest he got to panic, he realised, the desire to wrap his hands around your throat and silence you. Like forgetting to control his strength in a fight. Like using full force to throw you like a ragdoll against a wall to protect you from a knife. It only took a moment. It was dangerous. For both of you. Because at the same time, his solace in the dark for so long had been you. Akatsuki's stories, the you he met in Rhodolite, and now the you here now in Obsidian, in his hands. Every time he had felt himself drowning, your hand had reached for him to pull him back to the surface. You would probably never quite grasp just how deeply he relied on you.

It made him ache.

Gilbert knew what you gave up for him. He knew all the concessions you made to him, how much you let him get away with. He had watched you butt heads with people for far less than what he had done to you, watched you not give an inch only to turn to him and give him a mile. He knew his worst habits and the worst he would do if you let him. You didn't, you couldn't, otherwise you would stop being yourself (and there would be no greater betrayal to Gilbert von Obsidian after all). But he was more aware than anyone how much space you gave him and how little he gave back to you.

In one moment – when you had stared into his soul, gentle but unyielding, and asked him what he truly wanted for Obsidian, for the people he worked so hard for – he had wondered what it would have meant for the two of you if he was 'clean'. If he could shed off the layers of grime and blood and filth that made this nation, as if he hadn't been mired and marinated in it since his birth. As if the name Obsidian, a name for fear and pain, wasn't moulded into his features, wasn't the only thing people could see when they looked at him. He felt the need to scrub at his skin and flesh and hair and eyes until there was nothing of Obsidian left and it was just him, just Gilbert, once again. And he could hold you without worrying about the smell of blood sticking to his skin and the image of dirt smearing across your gentle face, and you could smile and hold him like you had no care in the world and maybe you could both just be happy for the rest of your lives.

It was absurd. You had made him into an absurdity incarnate.

There was no coming back from everything the Emperor of Obsidian had done. And Gilbert was not one for regretting the choices he had made and the path that he had carved forward. But just in that moment, he couldn't help but wonder if you wished that of him. The look you had in your eyes sometimes when he returned from his work, when he knew you could see and smell and feel what he had done, made him wonder if you wished he could be better. (You didn't. You didn't wish he was better, you wished he was happier. You had told him that. Had told Gil, who hates liars, that.)

A ridiculous thought flits through his mind, almost making him laugh into the black night of his bedroom, over the pounding of his heart. Chevalier would be able to teach himself to be who you wanted him to be. It wasn't often that he compared himself to the Rhodolite prince this way; comparisons were inevitable considering the similarities they shared. Gilbert himself had always considered them two halves of the same coin – alike but clearly different. Chevalier Michel and Gilbert von Obsidian would never know love, would never know friendship, and would never find a middle ground. They would always be walking in opposite directions (he had believed that to the very end, and yet the stubbornness with which you wrangled him and Chevalier into each other’s company at every opportunity was almost scary. He expected it of himself. But to see Chevalier coerced into it too was beyond his expectations. They had both finally found something they agreed on: you were a force to be reckoned with when you wanted to be.)

But you had fallen in love with him as he was. And you had never denied what he was. Neither of you would have gotten this far if you had tried to ignore it after all. And so perhaps the terror came from the acceptance, the (almost) unconditional devotion. Perhaps for the Emperor of Obsidian, the weight of such feelings was just so unfathomably heavy that he felt it would be the death of him.

How strange, when his death was something Gilbert had never shied away from.

-----

"Gil?"

Your voice in the dark, sudden as a whip and gentle as a summer breeze, startled him. It sent a bolt down his spine again, hot and cold all at once. It made him dizzy how much he wanted to wrap himself in that sound, layer it fiercely around his wounded heart as it ached and throbbed in his chest. He felt like he might cave in on himself at any moment. He felt as fragile as you looked. So at home, unfurling in his black sheets, stretching the drowsiness away in his bed, blinking bright eyes open in his room to find him in the dark (just like you always did).

"Gil." Your voice was rougher than usual with the weight of sleep and small in the blackness of the room at night. You found him still. He could see well enough the way your gaze softened and your lips curved, even with half your face still buried in the pillow (his pillow too, since you seemed to be lying on his side of the bed). Your hand emerged from the covers and stretched out from the safety of the bed to him, inviting. It was cute, the way you wiggled your fingers to encourage him, the way the sleeve of what was definitely one of his shirts was too long and draped over your knuckles. It looked like salvation.

He felt frozen, his muscles locked at the chill that ran up and down his spine. He wondered how much you could actually see as you lifted your head to squint and pout at him. It felt like something in his chest had opened up inside him. Like his heart had been precariously placed on a trap door and this one moment was the trigger. An ache in his ribcage, a weightlessness in his stomach, a chill in his spine. He wanted to close his eyes, to turn the handle of the door and leave and find a less frightening room to spend the night (the infirmary would do). And when you asked in the morning, he could laugh at the idea that you had missed him so much you dreamt of him coming to you in the night.

Gilbert von Obsidian was very used to fear. But it had been a long time since he had run from it.

Forcing past the stiffness in his limbs, he reached for your hand. He was still dressed in his formal attire, not even close to ready for bed. But he didn't have time for that now. The brush of your fingers against his even through his glove didn't shock him like he expected it to. His fingers tingled, almost ached, like his body had been craving your touch whilst his mind was preoccupied. Your fingers slid against his, skin finally meeting skin as you pressed your hand against his. He wondered again just how much you could see of his expression, but perhaps his silence had been a better indicator. You held him gently, reverently almost, even when you were just barely on this side of your dreamscape. You pulled him closer. His knees brushed the bedframe now. His hand, in yours, was turned softly. You brushed your lips across his knuckles and the warmth rushed through him again. It felt like something had taken an axe to the inside of his chest, the way it seemed ready to crack open. His hand was pressed against your cheek as you laid a proper kiss on the flesh of his palm. It made his lungs stutter.

He felt raw. Exposed and vulnerable. And when you looked at him, he couldn't decide between reclaiming control and giving in to you. He had been working so hard on trusting you more. He truly had. He had given you more space, tried to let you explore and expand your horizons as you wished. He had even come to you once when he was feeling unwell (you had dropped everything and devoted all your time and attention to him, just like he had hoped. And it had made him feel so hilariously shy, of all things. He felt like a child again. You had lay with him and watched him and kissed his forehead and thanked him. He had wanted to crawl into the warm safety of your heart and never leave it.)

He watched you sit up, still holding his hand to your cheek. In the midst of his ruminating, you had removed his gloves. He let you lift yourself up onto your knees, bringing your face in line with his. Let you hold his cheeks in your hands, sighing at the ache rushing through him again. He let you stare at what you could see of his face and when you reached behind his head to gently maneuver his eye-patch off, he let you do that too. You pulled him close, your fingers played with his hair and your heads leaned together and your hands held his face and he let you. Your breaths mingled as your lips pressed against his cheek, against the corner of his lips. He stayed still.

When you finally brought your lips to his, with all the softness and gentleness of your night, he remembered what it felt like to break. He felt like he had fallen from a height and splattered against the cobblestones of the castle gates; like he had been beaten with a club, so bruised and battered that not a muscle in his body would move; he felt like there were no bones left to break in his body when you held him like this. You terrified him, in all the ways he had come to crave. When you held him like this, tension flooded in and out of him at the same time. His lungs emptied in a rush but he breathed easier than he ever had. The chill that accompanied him all his life seeped away, replaced by your warmth. One numbness went away as another eased in.

You held him like he meant more than anything to you. You felt like daybreak.

it took weeks to decide just the last one of this (that's not an exaggeration, you can ask scummy)

also there are two easter eggs in here -> a frieren one - hint: the ost is amazing -> an epic the musical one - hint: i'm obsessed w ayron alexander as antinous

if you find them, more love and affection unto you friend!

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

I hope im not bothering you with my constant talking😞

But oh my god Seashell(otter billy nickname) hurts my heart fr.. my poor baby, someone fluff him up so he can feel like it's the old times😭 I got a feeling that if someone even DARED to try and harm Billy, they would have a major problem with the whole Justice League.

Drac(bat Billy nickname) would probably be moody during the day and active as hell during the night, at day you'll must definitely find him sleeping waking him up will cause him to glare at you but no major consequences! His vision is also probably messed up, bcs y'know, bats have a messed up vision from their sensitive sight since day can hurt them but night? Perfect dor them. Also loud sounds.. boy would they hurt his ears..and i can imagine that him using echolocation can be kinda scary sometimes

You ain’t bothering me one bit LL (as I assume you are)

Also, fun bit of Dracula lore I heard once from the book that doesn’t get carried over much, he CAN control the weather a bit! He does this to use clouds as cover so the sun doesn’t hurt him. I’m just imagining Billy traveling under over of clouds and his lightning storms with all the Bat gravitas for every dramatic moment getting its own backdrop of thunder.

Also, lil Seashell angst that comes to mind cause of the Shazam movie, his mom fluffing him up and then not coming back so he’s jsut floating without direction until he gets picked up like before missing his mom. Lil angsty angst for the boi

On a funnier note Seashell uses his lightning to fluff himself up with static electricity for funsies🙃

[glow-autumz]

Siren | Pirate

(heres some silly writing for ya)

Ripples of water curl and slither like silk around her shoulders in the Moonlight. The pirate lets this alluring siren guide him closer into the deathly waters, closer to her. His eyes could never leave her unfocused daze even as he tips dangerously over the lifeboat, even as droplets of the sea dampen his fur. Even when that look on her face alone threatens to yank him into unforgiving depths, where he'd drown and thrash helplessly against that beautiful form of hers as she'd devour him to her heart's content.

Moon's song floats weightlessly around the foggy seaside, tickling his ears and though it cannot work on him, it's just as hauntingly entrancing. Rocket watches her smugly, pretending to be bewitched, molted flames taunting behind those ruby eyes of his. This seems to anger the once mermaid now siren, her tail taking a break from the seductive patterns to flick in annoyance against the ripples of water behind her. Moon's eyes darting to his lips when it curls into a grin inches from hers.

Her fingers are intertwining against the patches of fur on his face when Rocket daringly grasps her damp cheek, ignoring her sharp hisses of protest, the siren song is suddenly pulled to a close. It's silent for a moment. There's nothing but the sounds of gentle waves splashing against the lifeboat and the shallow ringing in the siren's own ears as heated breaths fill the space between them. The Pirate knows he has her full attention when her tail almost goes completely still, Moon's eyes now entranced by his own as her hair curls around her, enticingly, like watery clouds of pure starlight.

Unable to bear with the watery tension anymore, Rocket smashes his lips onto hers, his hands tangling into the nest of her hair and gripping her face closer into the feverish kiss. Her muffled snarl dies on the tip of her tongue while he takes her lips hard, seawater trailing down her waist like pearls as she pulls herself up to deepen the kiss.

"Love." Rocket murmurs, the sound sending shivers down the siren's back. She ignores his call, hoisting herself higher against the small life boat to kiss him deeper, droplets of water splattering onto wood by his feet. Rocket can't help but chuckle at her sudden and dangerous show of force, sliding his tongue into her mouth as if it belonged there. When he feels her melt against him the smirk deepens, a sharp fang poking from the edge of his lips.

"Love" He repeats when his fingers reach the helm of the dagger behind him, his claws hovering just over it. "Mmmm.." Moon hums in response, lost in the sea of the pirate's kisses. Hot puffs of air mingle between them when he chuckles darkly and draws the blade. Moon's eyes widen, suddenly snapping out of the scum of the pirate's spell. Her tail flicks in aggression but he stops her attempts at any attacks, only calmly pressing the dagger closer to her throat, close enough to spill blood.

Moon chooses to hiss and snarl at Rocket instead, hiding the fear and hurt from her face with all the strength she can muster. "Ah ah ah fishy." Rocket taunts, licking the leftover taste of her from his lips. Moon almost slips into the watery realm but his strong grip to her arm keeps her body close. "Ya tried to use em siren charms but there's one thing ya missed fish-tail." Rocket grins deviously. If Moon wasn't so distracted by the dagger at her throat she would've surely swooned from that scummy glint in his eye. "Ya swally charms don't work on me."

-

(so I decided to write something that goes along with a piece I haven't quite finished yet and I really wanted to share it here. Hope you enjoy my silly willy lil' story.)

Taglist♡: @aliasrocket @pretty-chips @honeypleasesugar @thirteens-lucky-tardis @funkydancingdinosaur @evolvingchaoswitch @rockiday4life @raccoonfallsharder @bakaotakulife @cleo-is-babygirl

[spotsupstuff]

fuckin' around a lil bit with that idea of a more personified structure i've mentioned who knows how long ago now in some tags. i just.. adore the hit that is the sheer size of the Iterators when taken at whole so much... it terrifies me to my bones

inspired/motivated by a post by tanzdoesthings where they pointed at a puppet n said that is the Iterator's face. shit lit an actual lightbulb over my head...

unrelated to the art drabble underneath the cut

"I love you. Can this be understood?"

'No,' she sighs while she thinks... Just where can one begin to understand such a thing? An organic's brain isn't made for the comprehension of it, she's sure.

That every time pipes groan it is his veins stretching. Or that when she floats in his heart, the sound of its beats is strong enough to penetrate straight through her. Dammit, she has to wear a special suit just so her bones wouldn't shatter from a singular beat.

How can she properly grasp it, that he breathes only once a day- and just that is enough to rain destruction upon everything within his retaining walls. That he carries a whole city on his back- so small... almost unnoticed... Or that when she hides away in the shelters at his bases, it is akin to crawling underneath his skin?

It makes no sense for something that terrifyingly giant to exist. To live. Oh, why does it have to live just the same as her...?

Each component she understands. His blueprints are framed in the Mechanic's little house positioned near one of his more discreet entrances. The biggest blueprint takes up a whole wall, little notes made by her or the previous Mechanic scattered all over the detailings of his body.

Her fingertips trace over the white lines on the blue paper before bed, planning out a route for tomorrow- because oh it would take years to travel him whole unguided. One could so easily get lost within the mechanical organs, tangled in wires, strangled by accident in the tons upon tons of tightly knit cords- left as a corpse without a chance to be found in the less travelled recesses of him.

Palm in palm, she presses her hands against each other in hopeful prayer and in the anxiety the thought brings forward.

So small... so finite compared to him.

Sometimes when people want to disappear for a while from the little city- little? It holds thousands upon thousands of life like me- including her, they wander the dusty metal desert that makes up his backside. All the way to the edge of him, edge of the world that he represents- is... And then just stare over the clouds.

The more daring ones, more agile and capable, climb down a little ways- finding crannies in his skin that he'll never notice for purchase.

One time- while feeling terribly lonely and sad- she climbed as low as she dared. Just above the clouds. Some almost licked at her feet as they rolled around him- submitting to his presence like waves to boats. The clouds turned grey, his sirens blared below and she was scared. Not for herself, but for the childhood she spent living beneath him- for family still stuck there.

And she'd hide away in a crook in his panels- a fault she will once have to fix- tearing at the moss that somehow managed to make livelihood here. Waiting... for nothing.

Then he looked to her, red Overseer popping out of nowhere. The uncomprehensible, godly by its sheer size thing giving her maybe all of his attention. And she feels guilty, worming around his skin- hiding in it- like this.

Though he tells her: rather apologize for disappearing like that, for not answering the hails. As if the violation of his physique wasn't actually anything... It had been so weird, having him fuss over her like so. There's better things a fake god like him has to do.

'I love you. Can this be understood?' still stares at her from her watch, unanswered.

"I don't think it can...," she writes him, feeling sad, confused, intimidated.

"Oh..."

She rushes to reassure him. "I love you back anyway though. Don't worry, weirdo"

[zwoftt]

💙DORYM WEEK💚; day 2

sorry i totally forgot about this and i’m a little late but!!! i wrote this lil thingy cuz i love my men sm

(i have also not written like this in a while pls help)

—————————————————————

prompt: nostalgia // magic/melee.

[!] minor spoilers for recent 90s episodes. (93,94?,95?).

DORIAN POV.

the weight of my hands feel numb, fingers curling back as blue electricity emitted from them slowly and calmly.  on the cold battlefield, my friends all fighting one by one, i felt a sad lump form in my stomach. where have i seen this before?

my breaths chill, becoming heavy with my broken gaze as i hesitate to release the arcane energy i was concentrating… the very thing that got my brother killed, the same move, the same scenario almost.  instead of releasing it, i held it back as my legs began to shake.  i couldn’t move.  flashes of his pain-filled expression cross over and jumble my mind, making me feel sick. i was completely frozen in place, my throat clenching up and tears struggling to keep inside my eye-lids.  and then, my wet gaze connected with Orym.  his shield out-stretched before him, brown spiked hair matted by sweat behind his tiny pointed ears he carried on the sides of his small, perfect face.  the emerald eyes, softly stroking against my pupils in a moment, creating a rift between my mind and body.  he spoke no words, and yet i heard every single sentence.  my shoulders relaxed as i finally let go of the thunder that was circling up my hands, sending out an orb of electric energy that splatted across the shadowy enemy that was giving Orym and Fearne a hard time.  it went right past them…

it went right past them.

a long pause of my mouth, a slow sigh as the tension in my trembling form went away.  “Good one, Dorian!”  Fearne exclaimed, holding up her staff in a little cheer.   i nodded, clearing my throat, “Course, course.”   Orym moved back a little towards me, a gentle smile nipping the corners of his lips.  “Nice shot.”   he’d compliment, flipping his sword to the other side to get ready for the next enemy.  i felt as if my heart wasn’t even there, it floated within my chest like a cloud.  i’d cough slightly, not knowing immediately what to say back.  his compliments seemed to rub me the right way, often.  i smiled back wearily,  “Thanks.”   a slow, nervous chuckle came from me as warmth crawled over my cheeks.  he chuckled as well, pushing up against me as he held up his sword.  “Think you could do that again?”

“s..sure.”

[salaapaoo]

He's a lil blurb from my fic drafts hehe it'll be written eventually, but : alcale wing fic where flying up high and then spiralling down is part of a courting ritual. Krs wakes up as Cale and doesn't quite understand, but by the end he figures out that he's always been in love w alver !! Like the slow burn understanding where he figures it out and doesn't know when he fell in love because being together feels so natural and stuff

I'll probably start writing it later this year or SMTH? I have other ones that are further along and the ongoing ones to update fkslfkdf

Gonna make a playlist for it too >:)

"C'mon Cale!" The avian prince called out to him, "let's go!"

Cale gazed at Alver's outreached hand, listening to the rushing of air with each flap of the wing.

"Fine…" He began to flap his own wings, moving them in large swooping motions to bring himself up into the air.

Alver's taken him far up high in the sky, high enough that it's only the pastel painted skies surrounding them. Cotton-like clouds with their soft edges reflecting the colors of the sky drift below them as slow as snails.

"Ready?" Cale turns to look at Alver, confused as to what the other boy meant.

His confusion must have been visible because the prince began to laugh, his lips forming a fond smile.

"We'll do a countdown," Alver says, carefully taking Cale's hand into his, "and then we fall."

Was this boy insane? Cales face morphed with disbelief, his brows furrowing deeply, "What do you mean fall?"

"It's just as I said," Alver's eyes match the blue of the vast skies, as honest as ever, "we'll stop moving our wings, and we'll fall."

The magic device was still clamped around his bicep, leaving him in his disguise. It's a beautiful armlet with golden leaves curling around the entire piece. Alver's hand is warm around his, gentle and reassuring as he waits for Cale's reply.

"You're crazy," Cale scowls, not pulling away from the grip.

A bark of laughter comes from the prince, breathy and free, "Maybe I am."

(There's something in Alver's eyes that Cale can't quite understand.

They're honeyed and fond, he comes to learn later on).

To that, Cale gives him a deadpan stare, which pulls another delightful round of laughter from the blond.

"Trust me," Alver's voice is soft as he squeezes Cale's hand lightly, "I'll fall with you, promise I won't let go."

"...Alright," Cale finally gives in. He closes his eyes, cutting his own world off from the blooming colors around him in an attempt to shield himself from the fear.

They're still flying, but he knows what should be coming next. He anticipates the drop, his heart starting to pump faster at the mere thought. Alver never lets go though, instead, he holds Cale's hand tighter as if to remind the red head that he was still there.

"Ready?" The prince asks. A stupid question, really, because Cale doesn't think he would ever be ready.

Before he could give a response, Cale's body begins to tip as he's dragged down by the weight of the other boy. The muscles of his wings strained in their desperate attempt to keep them both in the air.

"WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FUCKING COUNTDOWN, YOU LIAR OF A PRINCE?" Cale cursed him out internally.

"It's okay!" Alver shouts, grabbing Cale's other hand, "I would never let anything happen to you."

And so, Cale stops, allowing gravity to take them both back to Earth. It takes everything in him to hold back the instinct to try to stop the fall, but he manages. Something within him wanted to trust Alver.

His heart floats up to his throat, sending his blood rushing to his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut when he feels the wind shift differently around him. It's loud- the air ripping around them in their descent.

"OPEN YOUR EYES!" Alver calls out to him, warm hands held in a death grip in Cale's.

Hesitantly, Cale cracks open one eye and then the other. All of the anxiety melted away into awe as he took in the world around him. Shades of tangerines, apricots, and corals take over the vast blue that once was. Baby pinks dance along the edge of the remaining blue to create splotches of lilac and lavender. The assortment of colors make the blue of Alver's eyes deeper.

"Ready?" The blond smiles at him.

"Okay."

Cale watches intently as Alver shifts one of his wings, sending them both into a downwards spiral. Only this time, fear isn't what comes with the change. A giddy exhilaration comes instead, filling his lungs until he's breathless.

(Alver wishes he could have recorded this moment because Cale is laughing. With eyes full of wonder and an open mouth smile across his face. Cale's laughter is filled with a contagious joy that has Alver's cheeks hurting from how hard he smiles in return).

Cale falls in love with the triumphant feeling flying brought him, understanding why Icarus had laughed as he plummeted towards the open arms of the ground.

[astraystayyh]

you angel!!

your reply to my reblog made me smile so hard, it's so clear that you pour so much into your writing and it means so much to you. im at a point where im considering restarting ballet, but it would have to only be as a hobby, as im too old (aka anyone over the age of like 7 lmao) to be able to pursue it professionally now, since the training is so hardcore :( however i feel like it might be good in healing my relationship with it! ive been doing other forms of dance over the past 13 years, mainly jazz and contemporary, but ballet is probably my true love.

beautiful, beautiful work. you captured the essence of the art so incredibly and in a way that's so raw, something i hadn't seen before and something that brought back SO many memories.

love lils xx

AAA lils you are so sweet YOUR feedback and ask are making ME smile 🥹 i do i do thank you for noticing that :,) there are silly fics i write and then there are stories i pour my heart into and i genuinely adoreeee writing like this one!!!

and if i may give my opinion, i’d say go for it!!!!!! it’s clear you’re still attached to it and i understand why because there is a certain grace found in ballet and nowhere else,, if you think doing it again might help you heal ur relationship with it then dooo it!!! even if it doesn’t you still tried and at the end of the day that’s very commendable. i’ve wanted to do ballet since i was kid :,) i’ve never got the chance to enroll in a class since it’s very expensive and sometimes i wonder if i missed out on something grand, u get what i mean 😭 i do dance rn but i hope i’ll get to enroll in a class sometime in the future :,) also i love contemporary dance A LOTTT 🥹 im sure u do it beautifully!!!

so thank you once more, truly, again hearing this from you in particular makes me so so so happy i’m floating on cloud nine rn 🥰 i hope you find lots of happiness in ballet once more lils 🫶🏻💐

[ficklecat]

Aborted SLT snippet became a lil drabble for ya - enjoy

(CW CRYING DURING SEX CUZ DUH I WROTE IT ONLY THIS IS LIKE THE THEME ANYWAY IM SORRY ALSO YOURE WELCOME)

It was mildly embarrassing to admit this but Kakashi cried pretty often during sex.

That was not to say he cried exclusively during sex - that would be more than mildly embarrassing, and also probably maybe a bit of a problem, so he could count himself lucky in that regard. And overall the things that did make him cry were pretty justifiable otherwise: grieving at the memorial on difficult days, deaths of comrades, a particular brand of unexpected pain (though that was more reactionary than anything). His own haunting flashbacks and nightmares could bring him to tears, as well as overthinking about losing his kids, or his dogs. Dogs in general, really, could pull tears from him if he let his guard down (they’re just so good why are they always so good we don’t deserve how good they are—), as well as romance stories told just right, like in the Icha Icha movies, with the score swelling right at the first kiss, the melting away of inhibitions, the promise of forever on a lover’s lips…

Gai’s curry could make him cry if it was spicy enough. But also Gai’s smile, given the right context. His laugh too. The thought of losing him. The way he looked at him, the way he brushed his hair back or kneaded his scalp, the way he would kiss him first thing in the morning, just so, the way he would whisper to him in the middle of the night, hush now, dear heart or my precious sweet thing or rival mine or c’mere, ‘Kashi—

Gai in general could make Kakashi cry on most occasions.

Sex with Gai, therefore, obviously, had the potential to often pull sobs from him that were more than sounds of pleasure but rather release. Release of things raw and tight and hidden inside him, jerked loose with Gai’s lips and hands and teeth and fingers, his gentle praises, his endearments, his hips. And of course, his love. Searing, blinding, potent love.

Gai wracked him with love, and Kakashi buckled to it. He bent. He bowed. He crumbled. He cried.

It was cathartic, honestly. But the first time it had happened, Kakashi was mortified and Gai had worried so badly he too had been brought to tears. It was unexpected - they were making love on Gai’s bed, early in their relationship, when Kakashi still wanted things soft and private and lights off, under the covers, and Gai had gripped his hips for a moment and he’d groaned a soft slew of praises into him as they rocked in time. Kakashi was close already, and he’d misinterpreted the building feeling in his belly as a climax but instead, before he knew it, tears were spilling from the corners of his eyes as he gasped into release. Gai hadn’t noticed at first until afterwards, when Kakashi shuddered and whimpered despite his best efforts to stifle himself, and Gai was positively beside himself, worried he’d hurt him or caused him distress or done something without his consent.

Kakashi hadn’t been able to articulate it then. He’d reassured him that he was fine, everything was fine, more than fine, and he’d simply been overcome. But after it happened a few more times, Kakashi learned that sometimes, the tension, the trauma, the scored parts of his body that rubbed rough against Gai’s tenderness often bled out when they were intimate, weeping wounds of ghosted pain, finally receiving the care and attention, the mending they needed, through Gai’s touch or praise. It was a lot. Too much sometimes, but in the best way. Kakashi’s chest would get tight, his breaths would stutter, and he’d feel his emotion overtake him just as his climax would only moments later. And the release would be doubly sublime.

Kakashi would float on some special sort of cloud afterwards, vulnerable yet miraculously unafraid, unguarded, completely melting into the trust and certainty of Gai’s adoration like he could dissolve in it, as simply and as perfectly as a sugar cube in a cup of warm tea.

[toomanydamnmuses]

((oops))

It was the usual bright, sunny day in Seireitei. Only a few fluffy white clouds in the sky, lazily floating past as if they have nothing else in the world to do. Which, Rangiku supposes, they must not. Clouds don’t have to worry about hollows, or missing captains, or paperwork, or anything like that. 

Clouds don’t have to worry about the promises that were never spoken aloud, or the promises that had never been kept. She remembers it had been sunny that day, too.

-

“Ne, Gin,” she calls up to the captain, perched just a little bit higher than her on the rooftops of the Third Division. “Pass me the sake, won’t you?”

An almost skeletal hand, one that many seem to be frightened by, oblige her even as he slides down a bit to sit beside her properly. His ever present grin in place, and she can tell that his gaze is locked onto the sight of a frantic Lieutenant of the Third trying to find his missing captain in order to get some paperwork signed. It is both sad, and funny, to Rangiku. Funny, because Izuru really does work far too hard and should take the break when it is offered to him on a silver platter like this. Sad as well though, because of the same exact reasons. The fact that Rangiku has anything to do with Gin being missing at the moment, of course, has nothing to do with her mixed emotions as she watches Izuru scurry about.

A bit further off in the distance, she sees Kuchiki-taicho and the memory of a rumor sparks in her mind. “Gin?” She begins, waiting for his vulpine gaze to lock onto her face, “is it true that Kuchiki-taicho had been married?”

Gin’s smile widens for a moment, before shrinking to be a touch smaller than it had been before she’d asked the question. If she hadn’t been so familiar with his expressions, the varying degrees of his smiles, she probably would have missed it entirely. He then nods. “Yup. Met ‘er out in the Rukongai somewhere, from what I heard. Lil’ lady passed jus’ recently, an’ asked him to do somethin’ or other. I dunno what, though, her final wishes were.”

Rangiku looks back to the apparently widowed Kuchiki, her heart aching for a moment. “Do you think we could ever do that? Marry, that is?”

She feels more than she sees how Gin tenses up, looking towards him again. His smile is now much more forced as he looks at her. 

“Nope,” he answers. She opens her mouth to ask why, when he continues. “I already looked into it. Apparently, for us Rukongai rats, they don’ want us marryin’ when we are high-rankin’ officers. Somethin’ ‘bout liability and not bein’ able to control ourselves if somethin’ went wrong.”

Somehow, Rangiku can see that being the case. After all, the stuck-up nobles in Central 46 wouldn’t dare to imagine that people from the Rukongai could be rational people too, able to control their emotions in a time of need. She snorts in response. “But the nobles can, then?”

Gin shrugs, his gaze moving to the ring he’d given her so long ago, that she wears on a necklace every day. She’d always thought of it as his own unspoken proposal, an unmade promise that he would always be there for her so long as they both may live, through sickness and in health.

“Maybe I can get my Captain, or some noble with some pull to maybe pull some strings for us,” she muses almost absently. She feels Gin tense more, and doesn’t know why other than perhaps nerves at the idea of actually doing it for real.

“Don’ bother,” he almost hisses out, but he sounds more afraid than angry. At least to her. “Like I said, I already looked into it, Ran. Ain’ no way we’d be able to. No way, no how. Nothin’ we can do, nothin’ anyone else can do. We jus’ gotta live wit’ it. We can keep spendin’ time together, an’ havin’ fun together. We jus’ gotta keep it as casual, no-strings-attached sorta fun, at least to everyone else’s eyes.”

Rangiku sighs dramatically,  but agrees. If nothing else, they can wear gigai, fabricate some identities for themselves, and get married in the world of the living.

-

It isn’t until now, years later, that Rangiku fully realizes what he’d done. As she watches Renji and Rukia announce their engagement, and thus their upcoming wedding, her mind wanders back to that day so long ago. Her hand moves up without her realizing, to find her ring and lightly hold onto it, her gaze distant as she remains lost in thought.

She’s happy for them, of course. She also knows now, and not just from this, that what Gin had said back then was a lie. How many other things he’d said to her, that were lies, she isn’t sure. She’ll probably never find out.

It’s probably a good thing, then. That he’d never actually made those promises, since he was never able to keep them.